(II) - The Willing Flesh
by PhantomStag458
Summary: Taking place three months after 'The Mad Game', Larn is imprisoned and awaits execution. However after an unexpected interference by an old ally, he is catapulted to the furthest reaches of the Imperium where, on a far-flung outpost, he faces a terrible invasion, forcing him to fight both mankind's greatest enemy and confront his own personal demons.
1. Prologue

?:?/M41/01-40.999/Norn/Grendel/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

Having placed in my mouth sufficient bread for three minutes' chewing, I withdrew my powers of sensual perception and retired into the privacy of my mind, my eyes and face assuming a vacant and preoccupied expression.

I am still Arvin James Larn. But I wasn't sure I even deserved it. My nineteenth birthday I spent looking across at the tiny square of weak winter sunlight that appeared most days if the weather was good.

I was three months in the cell – I think. I started etching tallies in the wall my first few days of incarceration but quickly grew bored of it.

The future was non-existent, the present, dull and uneventful. My mind lived in the past. I held onto distant memories like a man clinging to a piece of driftwood to stop himself from going down with the ship.

 _Larn. My name is Larn_ , I thought over and over again in my head. Those were the last words I had spoken to Izuru Numerial, a half-Eldar, as she lay dying from a knife wound. For a brief moment, I remembered who I was. I became a living, breathing human free of the cold, iron shackles of the Imperium. I was happy to have helped save a life, to not be helpless as I watched another person I cared about die as I had been many times in the past.

 _The first and last words, were they not?_ We were tight, the both of us. We possessed a bond forged in blood and fire; a warrior's trust.

My one consolation, the single tiny crumb of comfort was that Izuru and her children were safe. Despite her past manipulations, Izuru's cause had been noble, far nobler than mine and she deserved to be able to retire from the battlefield with her family. Now she was faraway in a place called Ulthwé, safe from the Imperium.

The bread was stale and the water lukewarm. For my efforts in saving the group of Eldar I condemned myself.

 _Aah but you were already condemned. The business with the Eldar was just the final nail in your coffin. Your crime was far more heinous!_

I was a murderer, condemned for the act of self-defence. Had it been any individual other than the planetary Governor's nephew then I wouldn't have got into such hot water. I asked myself time and time again, why was the Governor's nephew, a spoiled, rich boy, a part of an underground-dwelling Death Cult?

 _It doesn't make any sense_.

Not since before the annihilation of my original unit, Fox Company, had anything made any sort of sense.

Between then and now, I'd been menaced by Orks, terrorised by Eldar Corsairs and chased and shot at by other humans. The Imperial Guard disavowing me after callously fabricating my eye-witness account of fellow soldiers brutally gunning down unarmed civilians broke my faith in them. Capture and torture by the same Eldar changed me. I wasn't sure it was for the better.

Nightmarish images visited my dreams, projecting snarling faces, twisted and torn, festooned with piercings, tattoos and dripping with blood before my eyes. No matter how tightly I held my hands over my eyes, I could still see them. They were still there.

Whispers too, whispers inside my head of long dead comrades asking me why I couldn't save them and what gave me the right to live and for them to die.

Fate cruelly dangling hope in front of my eyes before snatching it away had been the final straw. As a trade-off with the Eldar, Izuru and her kin had been permitted to leave with a group of warriors from Ulthwé; I had not.

Now it was the stockade where I found myself. Awaiting court-martial by the military before being passed over to the Governor for further punishment and maybe death.

The effects of the torture, the electrocution, the sticky, tar-like feel of the oil in my throat were an ever-present reminder of what I'd endured in Eldar captivity.

A faint ringing in my right ear, ever-present, irritated me. I had felt something in my ear go when the Princess discharged her Lasblaster very close to it when trading fire with Izuru.

Thinking about it now, I felt a warm feeling in my gut as Izuru had steadfastly held her fire simply because I was in the way. Just went to show that she was looking out for me.

 _She cannot help you now_. _You've refused death too many times. He's been patient but death always collects in the end._

I never thought I'd die such a dishonourable death, far away from the battlefield.

 _What do you know about honour? Betraying one's own kind in favour of helping a sworn enemy of the Imperium shows a definite lack of honour._

I wasn't convinced I did the wrong thing though, despite what Imperial policy stated otherwise. I'd saved lives, not just Eldar but human lives too. The pilot, Leon Spieksma, could put in a good word for me. Would he do that?

 _You're clutching at straws. This galaxy has no space for optimists. You must be a realist. You can hope for the best but you must take into consideration the worst possible outcome and expect it to happen._

 _Hope. Hope is a mistake._

Later the grinding of ungreased gears snapped my eyes open. Two guards wearing face-concealing headgear and the dark grey uniform of the Grendel Armed Forces stood in the doorway.

"Is it time?" I asked. Neither man spoke. I felt globed hands under my armpits hauling me upright.

 _This is it_. _So no proper procedure then, no trial?_

My eyes, so used to the dim confines of my cell, had trouble adjusting in the bright sunlight as I was half-marched, half-dragged through bare stone corridors and outside for the first time in three months. So bright was the light, I couldn't see where I was.

Winter had come to Norn, bringing with it a hard frost that left a dusting of white over everything. I shivered in my uniform. It was unchanged from what I'd worn when a member of A.L.I.: OG combats. The only significant difference was the broad white stripes running down them, denoting prisoner status.

Right before I could get a glimpse of my surroundings I was thrust into the familiar confines of a ten-tonne Chariot APC and crushed inbetween two armed guards, two of whom sitting on either side of me and two opposite. All were faceless, armoured and carried Volg .50 carbines.

Nothing was said as the double doors were sealed, nor when we got underway. My four companions kept their body language neutral and stared straight ahead; automatons.

We were rolling a scarce ten minutes before the Chariot ground to a halt.

 _Is this my stop?_ I looked around at the guards as they dismounted mechanically and formed a cordon around me, turning away any nearby bystanders with their carbines.

This was definitely still the centre of Norn. I recognised the blocky grey buildings with scarcely a window in them towering above all around. Spires, pyramids and great arches were scattered liberally about. Plinths with statues, tall as titans, rose into the grey clouds which hung low over the city.

My escort hustled me up a wide set of steps leading up to one of the grey blocks and through a nondescript door in the smooth stone that was invisible unless one looked at it the right way.

The four sets of steel, hobnailed boots drowned out the softer taps of my rubber-soled boots with aggressive, measured beats on a flight of cast iron steps, the noise echoing up and down the narrow stairwell and carrying to the floors above.

A long climb later we left the stairs behind and trooped down corridors equally grey as the outside had been but strangely devoid of life.

 _Where are we? These look like offices._ I remarked curiously.

They were too clean for my liking. The floors were polished to a mirror sheen, the walls spotless.

A beady red eye of a Servo Skull watched me from a corner and seemed to latch our party. I could feel the light on my back but didn't dare turn around to see whether it was still there.

One of my guards noticed the tail and hissed, " _shoo!_ "

Huffing to itself, the Servo Skull flew away.

Through the walls a low roar could be heard. It grew steadily as we drew closer to whatever was making it. It sounded like a large crowd of people all chattering away.

 _This is it._ I felt my stomach drop from out of my body. I desperately needed to relieve myself.

The noise was coming from a huge square which I realised was Norn's central plaza. From the fifth storey window I could see all across the 400 yard-wide expanse. Crowds of people were gathered around a wooden platform. Dangling from a beam above was a noose.

 _So that's where everyone's gone. Would a crowd of that size really just come to see an execution?_ My heart filled with dread at seeing the gallows. I was so fixated on the rope gently swaying in the breeze I didn't notice my cuffs being unlocked.

 _What?_ I stared down at my wrists in utter disbelief. Without a word, the four guards left the way we had come in.

 _Am I free? What is this?_ I spun round and looked up and down the long corridor I was in. Double doors, all open, stretched both ways, leading through similarly deserted offices.

A ripple ran through the crowd. Instantly their tone changed.

I watched, stunned, as a man wearing identical prison fatigues to me appeared escorted by six government soldiers through the crowd. He had a bag covering his head. Even far away I could see the material being sucked in and out where the prisoner's mouth was. He was hyperventilating.

He stumbled as he was targeted by kicks and jabs from those closeby. The soldiers were having none of it and viciously beat back any who strayed too close.

"His name is Aldous Tillot–"

A speck walked into my peripheral vision. Gasping, I turned to see a finely-dressed Imperial official walk casually down the corridor towards me.

"–He is a traitor."

The official wore a crisp blue tunic that displayed a prominent Imperial Aquila on the left breast. A red cloak was draped over his shoulders, held in place by a chain around the neck. On his right hip was a heavy-calibre automatic pistol in a reverse-grip quickdraw holster. His soft footfalls indicated his buffed and shined leather boots had forgone a classic, cobbled sole for a rubberised sole, favouring traction.

None of this interested me however. Three month old memories, memories of a certain Eldar, one with a burnt face, resurfaced.

"Veen."

It was there, the same shapely face, the fair hair and the eyes. Only the ears and the scars were different, the latter gone altogether.

The Eldar whom I had known as Veen had his hands clasped behind his back. He looked thoughtful as he came to stand beside me. "Veen is not my real name," he replied, his gaze on the hooded prisoner being led up the wooden steps to the platform.

"What do I call ye? Sir?"

Veen raised his eyebrows at being addressed as 'sir'.

"My underlings call me sir. Those in my direct chain of command… I am not permitted to name. They are individuals of some influence in the affairs of the Imperium. Call me Veen if you want, it does not matter to me."

"So what's his name?" I asked, nodding down at the hooded prisoner.

"Aldous Tillot. Traitor," Veen stressed the syllables, "an heretic and a thief. Sentenced to thirty years hard labour. He will be due for obliteration after his appointment here."

"What's that make me?"

"Alive. You are alive, Arvin James Larn."

"Why?" My throat went dry as Aldous Tillot was guided up a step to stand in front of the rope.

The crowds around were driving themselves nuts. It was as if a surge of electricity had been fired through them. Every man, woman and child was shaking their fists, shouting or throwing things at Tillot, who they thought was me.

"I have – we have, for that matter – you to thank for the successful assassination of the Void Dragons commander. You and Izuru Numerial – who is in good health, I assure you."

A half-smile passed across my face. Knowing Izuru was alright warmed my heart.

"Ilic and Korsarro?" I inquired as to her two children's health.

"Likewise."

I nodded in silent approval.

"Where was I…? Ah yes, your efforts had a significant effect on Corsair activity in this sub-sector. Cutting the head off of the Void Dragons has scattered the entire fleet. 300 ships all going their separate ways proved easy pickings for the Navy, far easier than if they hadn't fragmented. Once news of the Princess' death reached them, they fell to infighting and petty power struggles. My superiors have it on good authority that there is the distinct possibility of a knock-on effect which could spread across the _entire_ sector. Any and all pirates fleets, Eldar or otherwise, will have had their resolve shaken and be thoroughly demoralised at such a powerful force being swept away, just like that," he said brightly, snapping his fingers.

"So is this thank you for killin' the Princess then?"

"You've been spared a rather incongruous fate. Honestly I will be very happy to wash my hands of the whole affair. Arresting you was as insulting as it was stupid. I've read your file and honestly I must say it makes for quite interesting reading. You've survived many encounters where most would not. Bastille, Platis and Grendel, the first and second quite by accident too. You have had a quite fascinating tour of duty – so far. Example, you took over command of your section in the aftermath of a riot and in employing small-unit tactics, you brought them through an ambush unscathed. You are a leader in the making, young man."

"I'm n – I'm not," I mumbled.

"You are a survivor. If I had my way you'd be decorated and returned to your unit a hero. You saved, as well as a number of Eldar, Leon Spieksma, remember him? He was very vocal in commending you for your actions. And actually, speaking of the Eldar, our relations with Craftworld Ulthwé are currently on the rise. They know about you and have sent their thanks. This will no doubt open doors for the Imperium in the future."

"So what 'appens now?" I'd heard Veen speaking the words but my brain shut him out. I did not know where I, in my present situation, came into all this. "Do I get to go home?"

"Absolutely not," Veen replied sharply. He sighed. "The strings I had to pull to get you out of prison. This wasn't just a few calls put out. This was two and a half months of bribes, favours and strong-arming. That is all I'm authorised to say. I'm sorry for the past three months."

"So no trial?"

"It would've been execution without trial – _would've been_. That farce is to appease Governor Malkara after you killed his nephew. Without executing the perpetrator the Imperial Guard would not have been allowed to remain on Grendel. There had to some sort of justice served, however twisted."

I said nothing, just felt guilty at an innocent man's death.

Veen knew what I was thinking. "Innocent of one crime but guilty of others which he would've been punished for _anyway_."

I watched the noose tighten around Tillot's neck. A dark stain appeared in the crotch of his trousers and slowly spread outwards.

"Everyone dies eventually. You and I will die too. All that separates us from him is that we still have a chance of choosing when, where and how we die."

A wry smile had appeared on Veen's face. "You're not destined for the noose, or the firing squad. You're a smart boy. You can take care of yourself."

"Can't save anyone else though," I said quietly, my gaze fixed on Tillot, standing still underneath the rope, his feet on the trapdoor.

A lever was pulled, opening the floor beneath Tillot. Like a ragdoll he fell through and was stopped sharply before his feet could touch the ground. I imagined him gurgling and pictured the visage of Tillot's blue face as his lungs were starved of their oxygen. Seeing him swinging gently on the end of the rope whilst his legs jerked and spasmed was magnetic; so much that I could not look away.

Veen's voice was hard. "No, there's nothing you can do for anyone else. Spare no further thought for him. Now come."

Taking me by the shoulder, Veen guided me away from the hanged man, away down the long corridor.

"I wasn't thinkin' of him. I was thinkin' of the nephew."

"An unfortunate incident. Just what a spoilt rich brat was doing amongst the filth beneath the surface is anyone's guess. Pfft, don't think he'll be missed either."

I disapproved of Veen's nonchalance regarding the poor lad's death. It had scarred me, internally. "I tried to help him, tried to comfort him 'fore he died. I see his face at night. Good lookin' bloke. The girls prob'ly liked 'im."

Veen did not reply.

After leaving the long corridor we descended a set of back stairs that led down to a brightly-lit underground motor pool. A fleet of Chariots, Hennus' trucks and a few Horus' armoured cars were parked in bays. Veen led me past all of these to a nondescript four-door civilian vehicle.

Two plainclothes subordinates, standing waiting, opened both passenger doors for us.

I glanced worriedly at the two blank-faced men as I climbed into the back seat. The last time I had been in a civilian car we'd been ambushed and thoroughly shot up.

"These men are trustworthy," Veen said reassuringly.

"They trust yer wallet, ye mean."

Veen, glanced over at me, a grin flashed across his sharp features. He had not been expecting me to answer in such a manner.

"Your orders."

As we got underway he handed an envelope to me sealed with an unfamiliar mark.

"Where they come from?" I took the packet and tore it open.

"The top, well not far from the top," Veen said, "oh, they're not to be read until you're in transit."

"In transit to where?" I looked out of my window at the street as we rose up to ground level and out into the sunlight.

"I don't know. All I am authorised to say is that you must be aboard the Aegis Fury when it leaves berth."

"What's the Aegis Fury?"

"A Destroyer. It'll take you to where your orders state."

"Where is it?"

"Up in orbit. We're going to the spaceport. There's a barge that will ferry you up to the Destroyer which should be leaving in fifty-seven minutes' time."

I hadn't seen Veen check a watch or any other time-keeping unit. _How does he know down to the exact minute when this Cruiser is departing?_

"Your uniform." Veen dragged a kitbag from underneath his seat. "Change now." A command.

Quickly I got rid of the prison garb and donned the more familiar OGs. The dark blue infantry beret I moulded onto my head had no regimental badge. The partly-opened envelope I tucked into a breast pocket.

"This is a direct order, coming from above me," Veen said. "You are not allowed to speak to anyone during your transit. Only when you reach your destination may you do so. If you have to reply to a senior officer, do so, but simply. Do not divulge any information as to your destination or full name to anyone. For the duration you are Aldous Tillot. Do you understand?"

I looked across at Veen coldly, perturbed at using the name of someone recently-executed in my stead. "Yes."

"You will travel faster than news, I guarantee that."

The grey stone blocks of Norn's centre fell away gradually and were replaced with more modern, red brick houses. Each military checkpoint we came to – for there were many – we were whisked through with no trouble. No one gave us a second glance.

 _Who is this bloke? Who does he answer to?_ I wondered, watching the man I knew as Veen out of the corner of my eye. He seemed at ease, leaning back against the headrest. He had to be someone quite high up to have lackeys waiting hand and foot as well as enjoy the comforts of a personal vehicle with – I think – real leather seats.

Veen's friends in high places saw us through the twenty foot tall concrete barricade that ringed the spaceport. The Imperial Naval Regiment - the Navy's ground forces - guarding the perimeter didn't even search the boot, just waved us through after glancing at Veen's papers.

"The ship you're leaving on," Veen pointed at a nondescript transport barge parked beside the wide runway. "When we stop, get out and walk quickly towards the airlock. Move swiftly but don't run. Keep your head down and don't look to the left or the right. Do you understand?"

I nodded, picked up the full kitbag in the footwell and gathered it in my lap.

"Good luck," Veen said.

Braking hurriedly, the driver brought the car to a halt beside the transport and unlocked the doors.

"Thank y–," I began to say as I got out. The car however was already roaring away across the tarmac.

The barge was one long tube of seats arranged in uniform rows. Two aisles ran down its entire length. I squeezed down the left aisle past many Guard and Navy in their olive grey and stone grey. A few pairs of eyes followed the lone private soldier but quickly lost interest when I passed by. Nearly everyone I saw was with someone or other. I felt the sensation of having already experienced this type of situation before; being alone.

Sitting down, I raised myself up and peered over the top of the seat at those around. There were at least three or four empty spaces between me and everyone else, which was what I wanted.

Take-off went without a hitch. I was scared of a possible search of the ship in case the government discovered it had been deceived. Six more passengers had boarded in the time between my embarkation and our take-off. All six – navy ratings – looked like they had had a good time on shore leave and had no interest in me.

I began to breathe easier as the barge lifted off from the ground and up through the thick cloudbase. Though I was glad to be leaving Grendel I couldn't help but feel unhappy at the prospect at leaving friends behind. Lymans, Ezel, Stazak and the other Alderians, none of whom would know what really happened to me. I imagined their outrage on reading the official story in the papers, Lymans especially. He and I would've got our transfer together had this not happened.

 _I'm so sorry._ I pinched the bridge of my nose and shut my eyes, gutted at abandoning my mates once again.

In the tiny window I watched the outside of the barge heat up as we entered the stratosphere. Grendel was beautiful from orbit, in stark contrast to what it looked like at ground level. The winter months had given it a visage of white, green and brown, truly stunning. I decided I preferred it from up here.

Locked in orbit around Grendel were the shipyards. Thirteen giant berths for the larger vessels to dock in. Somewhere up there was the Aegis Fury, my destination. Then it was onwards to where I knew not.


	2. Chapter 1

Afternoon cycle/M41/01-40.999/Defiant-class Destroyer Aegis Fury – D129/Grendel orbit/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

The Aegis Fury was the first 'real' ship I had laid eyes on outside of books. The only other vessel I had ever seen close up was the ill-fated transport barge that had carried us down to Bastille four and a half months ago.

Up close Aegis Fury resembled a giant gun. The bow had a jungle of spires jutting outward. Beneath that was the ship's main battery. Further back, other weapons on sponsons were dotted all over the superstructure. Amidships, on "top" of the Destroyer, sat a rectangular like protrusion which I guessed was the bridge. Other than that there was nothing remarkable about the ship other than the dull, uniform grey it was coated in.

My eyes were glued to the window as the grey mass filled the 'sky' above us. We were heading for a tiny umbilical tube sticking out at an angle from the lower hull in the bows. I could actually see it extend outwards towards us. Streams of air were jetted out into space from hydraulics.

The pilot decreased the ship's velocity to a near-crawl and killed the engines entirely, relying on the pinpoint manoeuvring thrusters to edge us closer to the airlock. It took nearly twenty minutes of delicate adjustments to bring our airlock in line with the other. I marvelled at the skill it must have taken to correctly align both clamps.

A dull _clung_ came from somewhere outside as the tubes connected to one another and pressurised.

"Please remove safety harnesses," the sharp, female, authoritative voice said over a tannoy.

Unfastening the straps crisscrossing my chest, I picked up my kitbag and trooped down the aisle, out into the connecter tunnel that bridged the gap between the ship and the barge. Here the air was chill and felt strange to breathe. I'd just had my first experience of recycled air; 're-syke'. It was oxygen that had been passed through air scrubbers and poured back out into the areas of the ship that were crewed by humans. I'd best describe it as slightly muggy and somewhat humid.

On stepping onto the ship's threshold I was immediately engulfed in a tide of bodies. The sudden influx of naval and ground personnel all going in different directions threatened to swamp me. I was afraid of being trampled underfoot.

Fighting for air, I followed a largish party of five armsmen, thinking they would be heading in the right direction – the passengers' quarters. Sure enough, fifteen minutes of elbows and knees later I tailed the armsmen who, completely unaware of the shadow they had picked up, squeezed down a thin aisle that ran between bunks. Each set of bunks was stacked four high, the tallest very close to ceiling and the lowest almost at ankle level. I chose the bunk second from the top, being slightly above head height for an average-sized man so I would remain unseen to all but the tallest. Stowing my kitbag at my feet, I opened the envelope Veen had given me and began to read.

 _Blah, blah, blah,_ I skimmed the administrative junk on the first few lines. The low light made the neat black font a tad difficult to read so I angled the paper towards the light in the aisle.

 _Private Larn_ – _hmph, previous rank revoked I see – you are ordered to report to 2 Platoon, 'C' Company, 1 Neria, Nerian 228_ _th_ _Infantry Regiment within the next three weeks. The 228_ _th_ _is currently deployed on operations on Nemesis Tessera. The Destroyer Aegis Fury will take you as far as Agripinaa. Once there you will use the identification provided and locate suitable transport to Nemesis Tessera. After reaching Nemtess, you will destroy anything linking you to Tillot and forget his existence._

 _Signed, The Lord Commander Militant._

 _Bugger me._ I let the paper fall onto my chest. _So Veen, whoever he is, does have friends in high places; crafty bastard._

Interestingly, my identification papers had been altered to accommodate my false identity. The tiny snapshot of my face was the same that had been taken the previous year when I was first drafted. Beside it, my name had been replaced with Tillot's. It was certainly a professional job. My only gripe was that it looked too new. My real ID had been through Bastille, Platis and Grendel with me and was beginning to wear at the edges. This had been packed in behind the fake copy, ready for me to use once I was done with Tillot.

Removing my beret, I settled into a comfortable position and tried to get some sleep. The bunk felt positively luxurious compared to the hard mat I'd slept on the past three months. Once again I found myself silently thanking my lucky stars that such arm-twisters like Veen existed.

Later on in the afternoon – I think it was the afternoon – I rolled over from my doze and realised the bunk next to mine was occupied. On it lay a girl of twenty or twenty-one who was facing towards me. In the half-darkness I studied her features. It may have been the poor light though in all probability the fact was that I had not seen any female creatures for three months.

Immediately I imagined Izuru but swiftly banished it. Izuru was different. If she would have it, we were comrades-in-arms, battle-buddies I think a more appropriate term. We possessed a warm camaraderie much like I'd had with the Vardans.

The girl, from what I could gather, was slim and fair-haired and possessed a natural beauty. Her skin was scarcely darker than mine, its pale hue soft and unblemished. Her face was heart-shaped, her nose quite something else. I thought I would've seen something like it on a beautifully carved statue. It protruded outwards, not too far mind you, and also curved upwards just that tiny little bit. I felt honoured that such a rare beauty would be bunking so close to a grubby little private soldier fresh from the cells.

Most of the day she lay stretched out asleep with her head pillowed on her arm despite already having a pillow to rest her head on. Once she woke and climbed down from the bunk. She wore the same OGs as the rest of us as well as dark blue beret. Her insignia, rather than being full colour, was subdued, preventing me from identifying her unit. I watched her through half-closed eyes with that funny walk girls do. I began to wonder where she went.

 _Should I follow her?_

I cursed the strict nature of my orders. It wasn't fair. I'd endured more than the ordinary soldier should and been jailed for three months for it.

 _Cut me some slack!_

I realised I had just sent an aggressive demand to the Emperor but quickly decided not to go back on it in case some form of divine punishment was sent on a collision course with me.

The girl returned a short while later, almost gliding in fact. I feigned sleep and ran my eyes over her uniform as she levitated herself back onto her bunk. She was from a ground unit thankfully. Not some uptight Navy type who regarded all Guard with disdain. Which one then, a supply outfit? She had no medical insignia so that ruled out the Imperial Medical Corps.

The girl had something in her hand. I caught a glint of a blade in the corner of my eye and watched her cut a piece of fruit into large slices. My heart thundered in my ears when she stretched a slender arm across the aisle, her hand holding a slice of fruit out to me. Obviously it would've done me no good to keep up the pretence of sleep so I rolled onto my side and reached out for the girl's hand. I felt the barest touch of her skin on my fingertips before the slice was in my hand. Smiling, I nodded my thanks and turned so I wasn't eating in front of her. The texture and smoothness felt to me like I had rediscovered my ability to taste. I couldn't decide what was better, the girl or the food. That little gesture warmed my heart. The basic human kindness was something I was unfamiliar with. _When was the last time someone had shared their food with me just because they could?_

I was quite prepared to disobey my orders there and then but something, a great shyness on my behalf, stopped me from making a blind stab at conversation. _Just what do I say?_ It was not something the Imperial Guard had taught me. I had no problem in shooting a person dead. I was used to it. But all it took to defeat me was one single member of the opposite sex. And she wasn't even armed! Only in the deep of night when I awoke suddenly did I realise all I needed to do was say 'hello'. Rolling over to face the girl, I was just about to whisper across to her when I realised her bunk was empty. She had gone.

Anxiously I looked around for her up and down the aisle. _Perhaps she's just gone to the toilet? Why would she leave her bunk in the middle of the night and not return?_

I didn't see any sign of the fair-haired girl again. Three or four more days dragged by slowly and painfully. All the time my mouth was clamped shut. I didn't feel like disobeying my orders anymore.

Clouds of cigarette smoke obscured the 'no smoking' sign imprinted in bold white font on a red background. Scores of soldiers, chattering away, laughing and playing games were exhuming an incredibly overpowering odour of armpits and sweat which clung steadfastly to the bunk area like an invisible toxic fog. The air scrubbers, worked to breaking point, simply could not cope with such large quantities of human beings squeezed into a relatively small space. Consequently the air began to worsen.

Curled up on the same bunk as I had been for the past four days, I read and re-read my orders. Time and time again I absorbed the information until I could recite each paragraph by heart. This was the waiting game I was playing, a pastime I participated with great reluctance in.

I felt my sweaty back cling to my woollen undershirt as I climbed down into the tangle of bodies, arms and legs below. Jamming my beret onto my damp head, I tugged on my combat jacket and picked my way over and around numerous card and dice games laid out on the floor. The belligerents, annoyed at their fun being disrupted, directed torrents of curses, both choice words used by the Guard and Navy, at me. I ignored them and fought my way out of the sweatbox.

The air was pleasantly cool in the uniform grey corridors of 'Fury', as her crew called her, but lacked the freshness of a real atmosphere. I had the bizarre wish suddenly to be back on Grendel breathing proper clean air.

 _No, not Grendel! I'd_ settle for any planet as long as it had clean air to breathe. Mopping my head with the inside of my beret, I wandered aimlessly around but stayed cautious of any roaming officers.

As I rounded a corner I caught sight of another soldier wearing a uniform identical to mine. As if aware of my presence he turned his head slightly to look over his shoulder in my general direction.

"Drow?" I recognised the red hair which instantly set him apart from the other men in my old section. The instant I uttered his name, he stepped out of sight.

"Drow?" It couldn't possibly be him. _I saw him die_.

The events were fuzzy. I remembered the silent bark of a handgun, Art Drow's disfigured head lolling on my chest and feeling his blood on my hands. _That_ memory would never ever leave me.

"Drow!" I hurried around into the space I had seen him go into only to be confronted with a darkened alcove that ended in solid bulkhead. Hanging my head, I leant forwards and tapped it on the steel several times in anger. Thoughts about my sanity flared up in my mind. I had never thought it was a cause for concern. Now though…

 _What is happening to me?_

Wanting to walk somewhere and not be idle, I continued my foray through the ship, wary of what I might find. It seemed in this part of the ship, the bow area, there was nought but Guard personnel. And they were very few. It was strange that none of the ship's crew could be found. Just why this was I soon found out.

It was an otherwise unremarkable steel bulkhead at the end of a narrow corridor that caught my eye. Curiosity drew me closer.

Standing easy in front of a locked hatch that lead to another section of the ship were two Navy enlisted men; armsmen. They were nicknamed bootnecks by us. Both wore grey navy berets and looked like hard bastards. My curiosity had got the better of me, now I looked foolish.

"Business 'ere?" the leftmost Bootneck asked in a flat, bored tone. Of course what he really meant was 'fuck off, you skinny little cunt', just he was too disciplined to say so.

"Just wonderin', what's through there?" I was conscious of disobeying my orders but there was only so long I could go without speaking to anyone.

"Bulkhead thirty," the other Bootneck said. He too opted for the same dull monotone, politely telling me to fuck off as well.

Bulkhead thirty was the official designation for the single accessway that separated the fore and aft sections of Aegis Fury. The reason for this was the aforementioned Cruiser was a mixed ship. It had a female captain and pilot officers and some female Navy ratings. Aft of bulkhead thirty was womens' country. That was the official nickname for anything beyond the gastight door which was guarded day and night. Officers were privileged to go aft of bulkhead thirty on duty and eat in a mixed mess just beyond it.

The whole, keeping the women away from a randy mob of Imperial soldiers I understood, however I did not understand why female ground-pounders were not also kept separate; the pretty fair-haired girl a prime example. Yet another factoid about the Imperium I had yet to discover was the segregation between the services. It had something to do with the big civil war that had engulfed the galaxy 10 000 years ago where a significant chunk of the Imperial Army, as it was back then, turned against the Imperium, taking with them fleets of Navy ships. So that a rebellion on such a tremendous scale could not occur again, the Navy and Guard were kept as separate entity's, only interacting with one another in combat. Their separation, to this day, still stood, as did the rivalries between one another.

"What's ye business?" I was asked again by the Bootneck.

"Lookin' for the toilet," I shrugged, playing the oldest trick in the book when hanging around somewhere I shouldn't be. The answer I got was not what I had been expecting.

"No toilets onboard."

"Ye what?" I glanced from one impassive bootneck to the other.

"No toilets onboard – ye deaf?"

"Bollocks," I folded my arms. These two had to be pulling my leg.

"Piss yerself. Go somewhere else first though."

"Make sure ye clean it up, little man." Both Bootnecks, still keeping an impressive straight face, were obviously laughing inwardly at me.

Standing fast, I decided to play on the Bootnecks' combat experience, that is, if they had any. "Y'ever seen a Greenskin up close; nah? Wha' 'bout a Stickie Corsair warband?" I raised my eyebrows expectantly but got no reply. "Ye never seen what they do to prisoners. Piss yerselves ye would."

The Bootnecks were still as statues. They probably thought I was lying.

I fixed them with a blank, penetrating stare – the thousand-yard stare – combat veterans wore and walked backwards a few paces before about-facing and turning down a corridor out of their sight.

 _Arrogant bastards_ , I smirked. _Not real soldiers – not real Bootnecks for that matter!_

"Private!" a sharp voice cut through my thoughts like a bullwhip. Snapping my head up from where I was looking down at the leather of my newly-issued boots I realised, with a nasty jolt, there was an officer standing in front of me.

"Sir." It took me a third of a second to read the officer's rank; captain. Hastily I snapped to attention and did my best salute.

The officer was a tall, well-built man in his mid-forties with dark hair slicked back underneath his peaked cap. His olive grey No. 2 uniform, more grey than olive, was brand new and undecorated, implying the officer was a 'Schola Progenium' twat who'd achieved his rank through connections alone and had never set foot on the battlefield. The scarlet officer's stripe running down the outer seam of his trousers did little to brighten the blank grey cotton. The absolute worst bit about this toy soldier was his brightly shined, knee-high leather marching boots. Apparently he'd forgone the more practical combat boots and short puttees in favour for a flashy yet horribly impractical alternative.

I hated him instantly.

"Private," the Captain repeated in a condescending tone. His return of my salute was held for a solid three seconds. In other words, too bloody long, before he let it go.

Thinking I was free to stand easy, I relaxed my stiff posture. This was a bad mistake.

"Stand at attention before a senior officer." The Captain snapped, his face darkening. Producing a tiny notepad from a breast pocket and a pencil, he asked me my name.

I returned to attention, exaggerating the motion and making my boot heel echo off of the bulkhead walls as loudly as possible. "Sir, Aldous Tillot."

"Your company?"

"C Company, 1 Neria, 228th Nerian Infantry, sir," I reeled it off duly, having memorised it many times over. I fought hard not to look smug. The man named Tillot likely no longer existed. Every single record concerning him had been destroyed, completing the obliteration process. This pompous cunt had no idea.

"Interesting…" the Captain sneered at me. "It appears we shall be seeing each other again."

"What d'ye mean, sir?" I did not like the sound of that one bit. A feeling of dread, ice-cold, coming from all the way down in my gut arose.

"I am Captain Kaukasios. I shall be presently joining 1 Neria," the Captain smiled arrogantly. Holding up the notepad, he said, "I have your name and I have the notepad. Tread with care in the future, Private _Tillot_."

Without waiting for a salute, the uptight officer strode past me and towards bulkhead thirty.

Grinding my teeth in fury, I screwed my face up and balled my fists. " _Sshhit_."

* * *

Captain Max Kaukasios wrinkled his nose with disdain as he left the filthy little private soldier behind. It disgusted him that such low-born animals could exist. The Imperial Guard was made up of proud fighting men, honour-bound in the service of the His Divine Majesty. That gutter-bred speck of excrement brought nothing but disgrace on the service.

Kaukasios almost nodded in approval when the two Armsmen guarding the bulkhead door performed perfect, paradeground salutes in unison. He returned it snappily and allowed them to stand at ease.

 _Exactly how Imperial servicemen should carry themselves_ , Kaukasios thought, heartened that the presence of such men made up for the lower-classes who, lacking in any redeeming qualities, put themselves to shame in the Emperor's eyes.

Kaukasios received many salutes from officers and ratings who passed by him. He enjoyed every second of it. _Soldiering, this is what it's all about!_

His destination was the officer's cardroom where he and the other male officers, both Navy and Guard, would gather before entering the officer's mess to await the captain and her officers; dinner being a very formal affair.

Kaukasios exchanged warm handshakes and greetings with the other men, all turned out in their crisp No.2 dress uniforms and Navy blues.

"Gentlemen – shall we?" the senior Navy officer present, a full commander, invited Kaukasios and the other officers into the mess. As per tradition, they entered on the hour and stood behind their chairs, ready for the women.

Kaukasios' eyes registered interest in the half dozen female officers, ranging from sub-lieutenant to captain, when they showed up. He looked the Captain, an attractive woman in her late thirties, up and down. He was surprised that a maturing creature like her with a staggering number of stressful day to day responsibilities could remain so… unweathered. Her name was Deladrier.

On reaching their chairs, the senior Guard officer, a low colonel, bowed and said, "Madam... ladies."

In return, the Captain said, "sir… gentlemen." With that done, the women were seated by the men on their right. The Captain sat at the head and the low Colonel at the foot. If there was another captain present – Kaukasios – then he and any others of equal rank would be addressed as Major since there could only be one captain aboard, vice-versa with Navy captains, if present, who would be referred to as Commodore.

Such was the large number of male officers, Kaukasios was not seated beside any of the women and had to contend with a place inbetween a balding major whom he did not know and a subaltern in his mid-twenties.

 _Pah, what does it matter? Bring on the main course!_ He was adept at making small talk, especially with easily impressionable green officers.

Kaukasios smiled across at the Captain as drinks were served. In response, Deladrier inclined her head very slightly and took a sip from her glass. _Hmph, a cold one. I shall enjoy thawing her out._

Sitting to the Captain's left was the First Officer, Lieutenant-Commander Ducheaux. She regarded Kaukasios with thinly veiled contempt. Her striking hazel eyes were like laser beams boring into his soul, slowly picking him apart piece by piece like a doctor would dissect a corpse. There would be no chit-chat with her, something Kaukasios was glad of.

The dinner was generally average, though to most it would've tasted like fine cuisine. Kaukasios' family had had the best of everything. His father Rafer's forgeworks on Mars had paid for everything. He liked to think he was richer than the High Lords of Terra. The money had sent the young Max straight to the most prestigious Schola Progenium in the Imperium and secured him a rock-solid commission – a captaincy – with any unit he wanted. Desperate to prove himself to his family, Kaukasios volunteered to be sent on deployment to the most remote outpost in the Imperium, a far flung world not far into the Eye of Terror known as Nemesis Tessera, or Nemtess for short. It was there that Kaukasios vowed to win the Star of Terra. It would be a decorated hero who would return home triumphant to his family. It was either that or death.

Kaukasios watched Deladrier out the corner of his eye delicately eat her food. _I would fuck her so hard in her Navy-issue arse it would bleed. She would enjoy it, the uptight bitch._ He smirked to himself. The other women were mostly plain, though standing alongside the Captain, a woman, in some cases, fifteen years older than them, they just looked drab. Kaukasios saw no effort should be wasted on them. His focus was on Deladrier.

Regardless of whether everyone had finished, the meal was over when the Captain rose. On this particular occasion, Deladrier rose early, much to Kaukasios' and the other officers' chagrin. It was enough for the Colonel to make an unusual request.

"Madam, will you permit me and my officers be served in the cardroom?" he asked before the Captain and her officers could leave.

"Certainly, sir," Deladrier replied coldly, before swiftly departing with the other women.

"The Skipper's a traditional sort but she's got her head in the right place," a lieutenant told Kaukasios.

The men had retreated to the cardroom for cigars and brandy. Kaukasios had struck up conversation with the young Subaltern and a Navy lieutenant, easily forming a rapport with both men. It was something he'd always been adept at.

"What did you think of Captain Deladrier, Lieutenant?" Kaukasios asked the pink-faced junior officer who, by the looks of things had had a little too much to drink.

"She seemed to know what she was about," the 2nd Lieutenant said. Taking a drag from his cigar, he coughed up smoke. "I'm sure she has a great many qualities."

"Indeed," Kaukasios grinned and drained his glass.

 _Some greater than others_.

The alcohol in Kaukasios' blood had lifted his spirits. After returning the salute from the pair of Armsmen at bulkhead thirty, different from the two who'd admitted him, he journeyed back to his cabin and turned in for the night.

Later, lying awake, Kaukasios felt himself coming down from the effect of alcohol. The pleasant feeling in his stomach slowly gave way to a trembling, uncontrollable fear. Kaukasios hid it well but in private his natural cowardice returned, looming over him like a shadow, so potent it was compelling.

 _Were my family ever to find out they would disown me. All that matters is winning the Star of Terra; I must have it! Nothing, no one shall stand in my path to glory._


	3. Chapter 2

Morning cycle/M41/01-40.999/Defiant-class Destroyer Aegis Fury – D129/Agripinaa orbit/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

First impressions, they say, are everything. My first impression of Agripinaa, on peering through a tiny viewport in Aegis Fury's bulkhead, was of a blue-grey ball entirely devoid of green that looked coldly uninviting. The lack of any vegetation was, in part, due to the planet's highly toxic atmosphere. The Imperium, ever imaginative, had taken advantage of the sparsely populated world and turned it into a gigantic ammunition dump. The industrialisation programme spread factories, mines, refineries, as well as those silly cathedrals dwarfing everything else which the millions of worker drones insisted on having so they could worship the Machine God when not on duty, all across the planet's surface.

The human workers had to contend with living in vast cities, hives, built underground and completely sealed from the outside. I did not like the prospect of that one bit. What else was interesting were the many ship hulks cluttering the atmosphere. The bodies of age-old vessels, all in pieces scattered about the vacuum, were unsettling. It was a grim reminder of how close to enemy territory we were. And it was not just any enemy, but _the_ enemy; the Forces of Chaos. They'd been hiding inside a massive warp storm known as the Eye of Terror for Emperor knows how long, likely ever since the rebellion. And they had not been idle in that time. Countless worlds in the systems surrounding the Eye were liable to be raided at any point; which they had been. The Imperials had not made it easy for them though. Something like a dozen times the enemy had made a big push to try and break through the narrow chokepoint that was the Cadian Gate and spread out into the galaxy. On each sally forth they had met the Guard, the Navy and the Marines – the big armoured ones – in open combat and had been driven back into the darkness.

Our little shuttles were tiny toys in the shadows of the space wrecks. I watched a particularly huge piece of titanium-A armour plate, the size of a hab-block, spiral slowly past the window, so close I felt I could reach out and brush it with my fingertips. Everyone around me was awed by the floating graveyard and watched in silence as we flew through titanic gaps in ancient capital ships that had reddened with rust. You'd think that since there was no air in space the iron in armour plate couldn't possibly rust but due to the close proximity to a planet there were some traces of air for the process to occur.

There didn't seem to be much of an atmosphere, not to the extent of Grendel, when we dropped through sky and into thick clouds. When at last we broke through the murk we saw the 'ground' 2000 feet below us.

"Look at that. They still haven't cleaned up the mess from the last war." A private soldier, sitting in the window seat next to mine, saw hundreds of wrecks that had fallen from space dotting the planet-wide industrial areas. From up here they looked like toys a child had stamped on and flung around the room. It looked awful from up in the sky. I couldn't imagine what Agripinaa was like on the surface. Long, thick pipelines and a flat, man-made plain stretched in all directions. In some cases, giant triple-A towers with anti-aircraft weapons pointed skyward rose up like giant metal fingers. Huge smokestacks belching out dirty clouds of steam obscured our vision as we flew lower and lower.

"Grim," I muttered, saddened at seeing the infrastructure swallow the planet whole. I wondered what Agripinaa had been before the Imperium's warmachine had fallen upon it. Had it been like Jumael, lush and fertile? Or had it always been this way?

"Agrippa, down there," the Private beside me pointed.

"Where?" I couldn't see what he saw.

"The main Hive City."

My first glimpse of the capital of Agripinaa was a kilometre deep man-made trench which supported half a dozen railway lines. One very large freight train, stacked high with shipping containers, rode on one of these tracks in the same direction we were going. I watched it chug along with interest for a while before it disappeared into a tunnel. Immediately beyond it a gigantic bastion rose up a good two hundred feet, marking the outer boundaries of Agrippa.

"Oh bugger…" I gaped. I was not alone. From the outside Agrippa was roughly rounded and triangle-shaped. Many, many spires with further extensions sprouted outwards and upwards. Further inwards the heaving mass rose thousands of feet higher until it was just one, almost stick-thin spire, touching the clouds which on a bad day would be invisible. I was awed by the sheer size of the Hive yet simultaneously reviled by its ugliness.

It went dark outside as our shuttle flew into a wide tunnel for incoming traffic. For ten minutes we could see nothing but the dirty grey wall flash past. I saw some graffiti now and then and wondered how it had been possible for the tall walls that curved inwardly to be vandalised so easily with no visible way to scale them. The Private next to me had also noticed. "'dare those hive-born scum desecrate the sacred walls of the Emperor. They will incur his judgement sooner or later."

I was sitting next to an Emperor-botherer it seemed; lucky me. I hoped the Nerians would be somewhat similar to the Alderians in that they didn't overly devote themselves to adhering to the Imperial Creed and display too much zeal or see heretics and xenos hiding in every dark corner. The former I had yet to encounter, the latter I had mixed thoughts on. Izuru would fall under the latter category, yet judging from experience there was no finer warrior or mother for that matter. She loved her children dearly and everything she had done, she did for them. I had a deep respect for her and, for that matter, the Eldar Corsairs who gave us an incredibly hard fight back on Grendel. I was of a completely opposite opinion however on the late Princess Saarania, being a child-kidnapper and a vicious enemy of Izuru who deserved only death. As well as her was the loathsome torturer Vliss. His fiery death after attempting to ram into me was quite satisfying. I just wished it had been me to pull the trigger. Going back to Izuru, she had showed me that not all xenos were bad, despite what the Imperium preached. They had loved ones, families too. Maybe, at the end of the day, they fought for more than their gods or unconditional hatred of human beings. Rather so they could one day see their wives, husbands or children again. Knowing now that they were, in some cases, like us, shook me to the core.

"That's more like it."

"Hmm?" I awoke from my daydream and turned to look out of the window. Where the wall, before, passed perilously close to the shuttle there was now nothing but open sky.

 _Grey sky?_ I had a closer look.

"We're deep underground. Those're the walls surrounding the docking berths," the Emperor-botherer said.

"Breathe out there?"

"We can."

In my limited field of vision I could see many other ships, all barges and shuttles, taking off and setting down on a wide concrete landing pad. Parties were disembarking and following white lines painted on the ground to tram systems that would ferry them to the populated areas of the Hive. Techs and menials swarmed each ship as it docked, rigging up tangles of wires and hefting glowing plasma cutters in preparation for a quickfire maintenance job. In the distance, lights blinked on and off from a control tower, meaningless to me.

The solid ground, albeit artificial, felt firm and dry under my feet when I stepped down from the shuttle. For a moment I gazed in awe at the vast interior of the space dock before a hand pushed me from behind, telling me to get a move on. Huge could not convey properly the awe-inspiring size of the underground chamber. It stretched for, at least, several klicks in each direction and was many hundreds of metres high. The entryway in the ceiling we had come in from was a tiny fingertip of, slightly lighter, grey compared to the darker stone; one of many.

I walked beside no one and tried to remain solitary as our party journeyed across the pad to where the trams waited. The cars had very few seats, forcing most of us to stand, me included. Though admittedly I could've just sat and ignored those standing, I kindly offered my seat to an older woman, an officer, who looked tired and drawn out. She gratefully accepted without a word and nodded thanks. I did it because of what the fair-haired girl had done for me. If someone was willing to do something for me then I should be willing to do something for them in return.

 _How prison's changed me,_ I reflected, glancing up at the lights which flickered intermittently every time our car went around a bend. The other passengers didn't seem too perturbed by it. To them, this was normal service. When the brakes were thrown unexpectedly, several of us were knocked off-balance. Thankfully I was not one of them as I had a firm grasp of a pole with yellow and black safety tape wrapped tightly around it. I half-smiled at the assorted grumblings of the other passengers, apparently unused to discomfort. I'd invite them to spend three months in a cell. Maybe that would change their opinion.

Once more the strip lights flickered. Glancing over my shoulder I saw an infantry officer with his arm raised, holding onto a bar. It took me a moment of staring before my eyes settled on the name tag above his left breast pocket.

 _Doron_.

The officer's eyes locked onto mine. He gave me a knowing look. Just then the lights flickered off. A second later the space where Doron had stood was vacant.

My heartbeat quickened. I looked away and swallowed, hard. My eyes threatened to fill with tears. Quickly I composed myself and hoped nobody had noticed.

Once more the tram braked, this time to a dead halt.

"Please mind the gap." A canned, authoritarian voice – also female like the one on the shuttle – came from speakers above out heads when the double doors hissed open. I glanced down at the six inch gap separating the tram from the platform and stepped over it, unnerved at seeing the long-dead officer once again. Thinking of Doron and Drow along with others that had died alongside me was painful. It was particularly hard with Doron as he had been my last link with the Jumaels; my original unit. I had never forgotten his murder, seeing, from a distance, the flash of light and the puff of pinkish mist had plunged a knife into my heart. Izuru had done it, under coercion mind you as her children were being used as leverage then by Princess Saarania, the latter being to blame for everything. Still, she got her comeuppance in the end. That part of the story was over. I was now, after turning the page, on an entirely new chapter.

The white, tiled floors of the station were squeaky clean, so much that in the walls, the face could be seen. I didn't want to see my face. I was scared of who would be looking back at me in the reflection. I had thought I was still the same inside but wasn't so sure of what I looked like outwardly. Now that I was seeing those who were dead, I found my resolve shaken and began to doubt whether I truly was the same person I had been before.

Onwards through corridors and up great sets of stairs I joined the end of a long queue of servicemen that stretched away around a corner to the left. The human chain led to a metal frame which beeped each time someone stepped through. A light came on too. If it was green then all was good. If red then the individual was put through a search.

"Hey, what do we do there?" I whispered to the man in front, confused as to what to do when my turn came.

"Take any metal items off and put them in one of those trays then walk forwards through the detector," the person in front replied.

"Thanks." I quickly checked myself for any metal. My boots were all leather and did not possess the steel toecap others in front did. They were made to take their footwear off before walking through. I would be spared that, hopefully, as if my boots were to come off then I would also have to unwind my short puttees and take them off also. It would be awkward as well as embarrassing me standing there trying to clumsily put it all back on. My only effect that was, in some part, metal was my belt buckle. It took all of three seconds to reach underneath my jacket and pull it out from the loops on my trousers. Luckily they stayed up. Normally I required a belt drawn quite tightly to facilitate my narrow waist. This time was an exception though.

"Next," the order came. I stepped forwards and dumped my kitbag, belt and jacket on a table.

The man monitoring the metal detector wasn't a man at all but Skitarii. Skitarii was the official name of the military forces of the AdMech and were nicknamed 'Clankers' owing to their odd gait and clanking of gears when they moved around. This particular Clanker was standing stock still. Beside and slightly behind was an armed Clanker who held an antique-looking longarm strapped to his chest with a metal hand resting on the grip. Opposite it, on the other side of the metal detector, stood two more guards who were also armed with rifles, if that was what they were. All four Clankers looked imposing in their gunmetal armour and red robes. Where their faces were, there was only a thin black slit; not even a mouth.

Trying to appear as relaxed as humanly possible, I stepped through the squared archway. To my relief, a green light came on after a beep. It appeared I was free to go. Snatching my effects, I left the Clankers behind.

"Please follow the white line. No talking. No smoking," the same robotic female voice said loudly.

 _Charming,_ I glanced up at the small speakers in the ceiling. Pairs of eyes behind cameras watched me walk past underneath.

Further ahead, the narrow corridor widened before leading out into a bustling hub of personnel, civilian and military.

"Watch where you're going," somebody snapped at me. I'd been fixated with the giant screens mounted high up on the walls above and not paying attention.

"Sorry." I stepped back and waited for a gap in the throng of people. The hubbub swallowed me up quickly and carried me over to one of the many exits.

There were lots of men and women in many different coloured berets denoting their branch of service. Dark blue, like mine, for infantry, maroon for airborne, dark green for reconnaissance formations, black for armoured, scarlet for M.P. and a single beige beret worn by an impressive-looking bloke with a very non-regulation moustache; the man unquestionably being one of 'Them' whom we weren't supposed to know about.

Along with the large smattering of Guard there were even greater numbers of Navy personnel. The officers in their neat grey uniforms with piping and braid as well as lower ratings who wore the same military grey without the finery. Some brass hats were present, though only those above major and below colonel; maybe generals didn't wish to mix with the mob.

A few individuals stood out here and there, Hooded engineers and techs from the munitions department, a few Clankers and a single Commissar, looking decidedly out of his element, alone and devoid of any lackeys pandering to him.

Before me the crowd parted and I was confronted with a turnstile. A tiny pad shaped to fit a human thumb was set in the aisle. I pressed it and heard a ding. A tiny electronic voice said, _welcome Arvin James Larn, please enjoy your stay_ _in Agrippa._

 _Uh-oh._ I glanced up in alarm, hoping no one had overheard.

Nobody paid me any attention. In front of me the turnstile shifted. I was through.

Ahead the corridor widened and stretched away for a few hundred feet. At the end it split into two, one led left and the other right. There were no signs to follow so I went left. It was probably just to ease the constant flow of crowds. I guessed both ways ended up in the same place which was likely a transport hub that led to the city centre; if Agrippa had such a thing.

With my kitbag slung on my shoulder and beret on I looked exactly like an off-duty soldier should, the one thing I lacked was company. Most blokes I saw were in groups of three or more, a few pairs here and there. Only one or two were alone like me. Most of the women were Navy officers who travelled in packs. The few female enlisted personnel were always with one or more friends and like the Navy, they weren't alone. Despite my many near-death experiences I felt quite young and foolish all of a sudden like I had been with the fair-haired girl.

A few more turns and up a long flight of stairs I found myself in a transport hub. Different shuttles were either departing or arriving. It was all very confusing to a country boy.

In the centre of the hub was another board that showed the different destinations and times; this one was much larger than the others and had a large crowd gathered around it. I watched it refresh itself every time a shuttle arrived or departed. All the names displayed meant nothing to me. I sat on a rickety plastic chair in front of it and dumped my kitbag on the seat next to me.

A small group of red-eyed and hung-over armsmen appeared, likely looking for transport back up to their parent ship after a night out. I picked out the least tired looking man, a non-com and asked him how I could find transport to where I wanted to go.

"You need to sign in first, Private. The office is in the city centre, third one down on the left." He pointed up at the board. "Shuttle goes to and from the centre every fifteen minutes."

"Thanks." I looked up at the orange numbers and realised the shuttle I needed to be on was about to depart. Hastening away from the hub, I hopped aboard a crowded shuttle with the doors on the verge of closing and gripped a pole tightly before the momentum kicked in.

There was a collective gasp from the newcomers to Agrippa, me included, when our shuttle rounded a corner and left the tunnel it was in. We were riding on narrow rails that were attached to the side of a wide boulevard filled with people. Below, visible through the rails, was a road which looked to be reserved for the rich few who had the luxury of owning a transportation unit. To our left was a yawning chasm several klicks wide and apparently bottomless. Above our heads, many hundreds of feet also was the ceiling. The architecture was churchlike. The Hive was mind-bogglingly big, so much that it frightened me.

Across the chasm were hundreds of tall structures topped off with spires and domes. Lights, in their thousands could be seen through the very fine mist. Several times aircraft flew by, dazzling us with bright spotlights.

 _Wow_ , I craned my neck and watched as a suspension bridge, even higher than we were, pass above our heads. Many catwalks and walkways criss-crossed the abyss, all adorned with a large Imperial aquila, just as a reminder of who built them. I couldn't imagine who'd want to cross them, knowing that all that separated them from a very, very long fall was a shoulder-high guard rail.

"Unbelievable," someone said. He spoke for us all.

Very soon our shuttle stopped. Thankfully, we got off from the right side. My nerves calmed at having the chasm to my back, I followed the mob over to where I assumed the place to sign in was. It was typical of the Imperium to want to know where its subjects were every minute of every day. Seemingly it couldn't even go for a short length of time inbetween deployments, ignorant of where one insignificant soldier was and what he was doing.

 _But I'm not insignificant, am I? Not anymore._ _Izuru and I, we took down a powerful enemy of her people, the Craftworlders, and mine. Veen even said our actions would carry weight._

I had never thought about it like that. So in some way, we were doing some good. Both races setting aside their differences and working together to fight a common enemy. The prattle the Imperium spewed about reviling everything non-human which, before I had swallowed readily, seemed so wrong, so utterly, utterly wrong now.

I was jerked from my thoughts when I found myself up against a booth containing a very bored looking clerk.

"Insert your pass into the trough." He said. Likely it was all he said during his shift.

Seeing a plastic cover over the smooth trough, I pushed it backwards and slid my I.D. through, allowing the Clerk to receive it on his end.

"Name?" he inquired, running his eyes over my details.

"Aldous Tillot," I said.

"…T, I, double L?" he asked, his fingers typing.

"Yeah."

"Hmm, you're not in the system. Did you provide a thumbprint when you first arrived?"

"Yeah," I answered truthfully. Of course there would now be an Arvin James Larn in the system, not Aldous Tillot. Something Veen hadn't thought of, I gathered.

"Ah well, I'll get you registered. This thing happens all the time – old machinery."

"Tillot?" A voice behind me, sounding strangely happy, asked. "Tillot?"

 _Oh shit_.

I heard someone behind me apologise several times as he pushed forwards through the queue, amidst protests, to where I stood. "Hah, didn't know you'd left Grendel. How have y –"

The man broke off when he saw my face. I looked at him blankly. He was quite heavyset with a bald head and a wide mouth. His warm smile quickly vanished.

"You're not Tillot," he stared at me accusingly.

"Don't know ye, sorry," I remained expressionless while screaming inwardly. The man who knew the real Tillot had to have been mistaken. Just how was it that someone who knew him personally could be standing right behind me?

"Where'd this man come from?" Tillot's friend asked the Clerk.

"Grendel," the Clerk replied.

Turning his head to stare at me, Tillot's friend glared daggers, "this man's an imposter. A spy!"

I saw the tiniest movement from the Clerk. His right hand reached slowly for something underneath his desk.

 _Alarm!_

Sirens began to go off, first inside my head then for real. Those behind me in the queue backed away nervously as if afraid I might pull out a weapon. Tillot's friend retreated also, an angry expression on his face.

"Don't think about running." The Clerk began to pull some shutters down over his window. "They'll treat you worse when they catch you."

Just who _they_ were became apparent when four Clankers wielding shock batons and accompanied by the same number of human security officers appeared from a door across the other side of the square.

"You're fucked," Tillot's friend said. The hint of a smile on his lips.

"You, blue beret! Drop the bag and place your hands on top of your head!" a human security officer, aiming a lasgun, shouted, his loud voice echoing around the cavernous reaches of the Hive.

Time froze. Two options lay before me. Give up and be taken into custody or make a run for it. The security unit was coming at me from my left, though they had several groups of people directly in their way and had no unobstructed line of sight. To my right was the heavyset protégé of Tillot. He was focused solely on me and what action I would take within the next few seconds. For me to have an open route of escape, he would have to go. My one advantage over him was that he had no idea what I was capable of and I'd faced far worse than him. Conscious of those around me, I loosened the grip on my kitbag held by a single strap over my shoulder and acted.


	4. Chapter 3

09:23 (Agripinaa time)/M41/01-40.999/Hive City 'Agrippa'/Agripinaa/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

Taking a step back, I feigned shrinking away in fear of the Clankers before twisting my shoulder and hurling my kitbag at Tillot's friend. Confused at my feint and caught unawares, the big man tried to raise his hands to catch the heavy canvas, staggering under the weight. His knees trembled slightly. All it took was a quick shove from me to make him topple backwards onto his buttocks.

"Move! All of you get away!" I heard shouts behind and the loud footfalls of the security men and the Clankers doubling their pace, thrusting their way through the unfortunate public caught between them and me. The slow-to-react civilians mixed in with the servicemen unwittingly stalled my pursuers. After a lot of pushing and shoving, they were on my heels once more.

I'd careered past the man, now in possession of my kitbag, around a corner to the right, delving through a crowd of civilians who cursed and shouted indignantly as I ducked and sidled through them. I heard their cries turn to alarm when the Clankers, their motors screaming, appeared with the human security men and began systematically knocking people aside, trampling anyone caught in the way.

The confusion worked in my favour, giving me a good start. Over the screaming and shouting I heard someone calling out where I was and the direction I was heading. It prompted me to break right into a narrow space linking two streets together in a bid to break their line of sight. The ferrocrete dragged at my uniform and scratched my hands, pressing inwards on my sides. The 'sky' above me was a narrow slit of artificial light.

"There – down the alley!" A cry came from behind.

" _Bollocks, c'mon_ ," I grunted, the rough stone scraping me as I pushed myself out of the gap and into the next street over.

Twisting to the left, I heard a shriek of a lasgun and felt a searing hot finger brush my back, the heat enough to singe the cotton fabric.

I stumbled, nearly falling onto my face before recovering, running forwards nearly bent double. Another blue bolt of light, a stunner, screeched through the gap, hitting a civilian woman in the side. The effect of the charge was shown when the poor woman's body was wracked with uncontrollable spasms, turning her muscles to jelly and making her collapse. Bystanders, witnessing this, quickly came to her aid.

I saw none of this. I was already in the next street amidst a jungle of pillars where pairs of cloaked humans wearing fur hoods walked silently, unconcerned about the flushed soldier with the dirty uniform barging in.

My pursuers were out of sight but I could hear frenzied shouting everywhere but where I was.

 _Are they surrounding me?_ I spun around, looking for a way out. The voices were coming closer, converging on the darkened pillars. Bright white torch beams panned through the darkness, highlighting the pillar I was hiding behind.

Running in a crouch, I broke from cover. I immediately blundered into a beam. A shout went up, quickly followed by a searching stunner. I felt the crackle of the shot whiz past me, the energy smacking into a nearby pillar and fizzing out.

Many more feet were coming down on me. I discovered a flight of stairs in a darkened recess of a wall I'd come up against and leapt up them two at a time. Up many twisting flights I saw my way was barred by two Agrippa Security. Both, oddly, had their backs to me and were looking over a courtyard of some sorts. Hearing my boots on the stone, both turned. The one on the left was a fraction faster on the uptake, reaching for a shock baton carried at his waist. The other had yet to make a decision and simply stared, his mind still in a debate.

I reacted as I had against the Eldar. Employing my momentum, I barrelled into the leftmost security man, jumping off of the floor just before and turning my shoulder so it impacted him full in the chest, knocking him to one side. The other, more sluggish in his response, tried to grab me from behind, pin my arms to my sides and lift me up into the air. Throwing myself forwards to counteract the attempted lift, I wriggled my right arm free and jabbed backwards at the man's unprotected face. I remembered doing something similar when fighting the Eldar hand-to-hand on Grendel. I'd been grabbed from behind similarly by a larger opponent and had elbowed his nose, breaking it. The Agrippa Security man, blithely unaware of how fierce of of a struggle I'd put up, was caught squarely on the conk. The hard point of my elbow connected with the bone, dislocating it with a crunch. Barking in pain, the officer lost his grip on me. Blood spurted from between his fingers that were clamped over his damaged nose. Kicking the other, who was still recovering, I vaulted the waist-high wall and dropped down to the courtyard below. Shouts of anger and frustration from above hounded my flight as the larger group after me discovered two of their officers assaulted.

The rubber soles of my boots slapped loudly on the smooth stone floor as I careered out into a bustling street. Almost instantly, an amplified voice shouted, "AGRIPPA SECURITY, STAY WHERE YOU ARE!"

Wheeling about, my eyes widened as two parties of Clanker and human security, seven or eight of them, surged towards me from both sides. Electric blue crackled from their shock batons. The Clankers eyes were glowing red. I heard chatter from a handheld vox one of the officers carried. I was surrounded. Only a few stands, displaying the virtues of Imperial culture triumphing over the decadent Xeno iconoclasm, stood in their way.

A channel beside my feet caught my eye. Beside me was a drainage ditch covered with a patterned metal grate that had turned green with age. Where I stood though, an uncovered section ran away underneath the building opposite the one I'd just left. There was no other way out.

Leaping down into the ditch, I bellied forwards underneath the grate.

"Where'd he go?" I heard someone shout.

"There, the grate – the grate!" My presence was discovered.

"Get 'im!"

"Get outta there! Get outta there!" Boots and shock batons hammered on the grate above my head as I desperately crawled forwards. I didn't see but behind me one of the officers dropped down into the ditch and reached forwards with his baton and jabbed me in the sole expecting it to discharge, stunning me senseless. I heard a roar of outrage when nothing happened. The rubber soles of my boots saved me a painful shocking. I'd been electrocuted before. I will say this about it: it feels like an intense buzzing in the body with every single muscle twisting in ways that they shouldn't. Put simply, it _fucking hurts_.

The sounds of pursuit slowly died behind me. I thanked the Emperor that I was only a little 'un and could fit through narrow spaces that others couldn't. In the long crawl that followed, I experienced the all too familiar feeling of being in the same sort of situation as I had before – there had to be a proper term for it!

Platis and the Eldar's pursuit of me repeated in my mind. Izuru desperately searching for me inside the abandoned factory, employing gas in a vain attempt to flush me out of the vents where I'd hidden was a stark reminder of our initial animosity towards one another. I'd got away by the skin of my teeth simply because I'd had a gas mask on hand, it had been that easy. Now, pulling myself along, heedless of the scrapes on my hands and knees and the dust falling off of my crumpled beret, I was overcome with a gut-wrenching feeling of how alone I was. There was no Veen to lift me out of this. Izuru and my other friends were far away, unable to help and unknowing of my current predicament.

Grim determination drove me onwards. I'd been in much worse situations than this. The only upside was that the Imperials wouldn't shoot me on sight, preferring to take me alive. That outcome would lead to questions on who I was and what I was doing on Agripinaa. Just why I was travelling under an alias would be revealed once the weekly papers were published. I could imagine the story on page five, maybe even page four if the details were blown up enough. For me it would be straight back to Grendel and the hangman's noose. Veen would not help me this time.

Ahead, striplights shone weakly down on a concrete chamber. The gentle drip of water on a larger body could be heard.

 _Where am I?_ I stuck my head out of a rectangular slit. Below me a ten foot drop led to the gently-sloping sides of a pool of grey-green water about thirty feet wide and of unknown depth.

 _This is gonna hurt,_ I thought. Gingerly, I wriggled forwards so my upper body was out of the slit and hanging in the air. Extending my arms outwards to catch myself I fell face forwards and landed partly in the water, my other half on the concrete slope.

" _Ow_ ," I grunted. _I must've worn holes in my elbows and knees by now; all this crawling around._

Removing my beret, I tucked it inside my jacket pocket. The material had left a red line around my head, irritating my skin and making my head sweat.

Circular tunnels led out of the chamber in different directions. These, unlike the crawlspace I'd just left, had water running through. Only small trickles dribbled from the pipes though. I ducked back when a larger torrent cascaded from a pipe in the ceiling, splashing water in my eyes. The smell was a considerably worse than before.

 _Come on, move_. I wasn't out of the woods yet. If anything I had plunged deeper into them. I'd played this game before. Only by keeping on the move had I evaded the Eldar on Platis and the paramilitary gunmen on Grendel. This time would not be an exception.

Stifling a sneeze, I edged along the shallow slope over to a pipe in the opposite corner of the chamber. This one was taller than the others and could accommodate my height. The thin, iron rungs felt damp and left tiny pieces of metal that flaked off in my hands. Side tunnels, branching off to the left and right, cast shadows across the main water pipe. A tall, man-sized shadow, standing half-in, half-out of a tunnel, further away, I caught sight of for a split second. My dismay at having been discovered so quickly turned to horror on seeing a pair of eyes, glowing yellow in the darkness, fixed on me.

 _Saeros?_ I tried to pull myself upwards but felt my right boot slip on the smooth rungs. I glanced away for a second, less than that even. When I looked back up, Saeros had stepped out of sight. Memories of the young Eldar who'd spared my life back on Grendel resurfaced.

 _It hurts._ I remembered the terrible pain in Saeros' eyes and his last words. He had been another young man wanting to die for his beliefs. Instead he was quickly and unceremoniously gunned down without even firing a shot in retaliation. I had raised his hood up and covered his face, upset at his death and as a final token of respect. I'd seen a small part of myself in him. Both of us, young and relatively inexperienced, trying to live up to our superior's expectations and failing in certain aspects. It seemed that the little part of me that regarded him as similar had died when he had. All that was left was numbness, a cold bloodless wound that would never truly heal.

"Saeros?" I whispered in vain. I had taken leave of my senses and was calling after the dead. Halting at junction, I gazed up at a round speck of light, still artificial, far above my head, shine down. A whispering in the nearby tunnels made me wheel about. It was a bodiless voice, seeking me out and probing inside my mind. Twisting and turning, I quickened my step, wishing fervently to be out of the darkness. Every few seconds I checked over my shoulder, paranoid of both the living and the dead finding me. The voices needn't have bothered though. They had been hiding deep inside my mind for a long time, preying on the guilt I bore for so many friends I'd lost.

The voices then, strangely, turned to snuffling. This was something new. It was sort of animalistic but synthetic also. The sniffing wasn't inside my mind – it was in the tunnels!

"C'mon boy. Sniff him out," I heard a low voice mutter excitedly not too far away.

"They got something?" another, deeper voice, conveying authority asked.

"Lead us to him! Haha – once they got the scent they don't stop until I tells 'em to."

I pressed my back into the curved tunnel wall, willing the stone to accept my body and become one with the environment.

"Stinks down here," another speaker voiced his opinion of Imperial sewage systems. Just how many were down here?

"Hmm, they got something! They smell traitor!"

A rapid scrabbling of paws and the hiss of joints reached my ears.

"He's here! Go on, bring him down!" The snip of severing ties was followed by a strangely robotic clamouring which sounded like an animal.

Shoving myself away from the wall, I groaned in dismay as four shadows appeared. A strange bonding of flesh, fur and mechanics appeared around the corner. Four pairs of short legs pursued my single pair. Tossing any means of caution or stealth away, I ran.

Never had I ran as fast before in my entire life. Not on Platis, with the Eldar after me, whooping and cheering as they came, nor on Grendel when, after poor Drow's death, I was shot at many times as I fled and put through a horrifying ordeal that left me mentally scarred. Right there, in the sewers somewhere in the Hive, I became a scared little boy again. Monsters, both real and inside my mind hounded me doggedly. The quickfire panting of the four-legged animal-machine hybrids I could almost feel snapping at my heels. Inside my spinning head, a crowd of people were shouting at me, hitting me in the head every time they yelled; driving me insane.

Bursting through a pair of double doors, I very nearly ended it there and then when the ground fell away alarmingly. Howling, from of a mixture of terror, frustration and anguish, I cartwheeled on the spot. My toes were poking over the edge of the very same bottomless abyss I'd seen from inside the protective confines of the train. The gap stretched entire kilometres up, across and down.

I was trapped.

Casting about for any means of escape, I looked up at several chains with hooks attached dangling from an overhead roof that jutted out above the chasm. My mind then was so messed-up I didn't even stop to think about what I was doing or, more importantly, _how_ I was improving my situation by making a suicidal leap. Glancing backwards at the monsters bearing down on me, I ran back a few paces and, turning, dug my heels into the ferrocrete. I made five paces. On the sixth my feet left the ground. For the barest millisecond I flew through the air towards the chain links, catching the metal and clutching it to my chest as my momentum swung it outwards. I was dangling over nothing.

The mob of security men, shouting and swinging their shock batons at me, made a grab for my legs as I came inwards. The only one who managed to get a firm grip did so on my boot. Once again I reacted instinctively as if I was fighting the Orks or the Eldar. Kicking furiously I felt the reddened fingers slacken and come away from the, now-scuffed, leather, making me swing away from the sea of arms. Loosening my hands and legs, I slid down the chain, careful not to look down at the terrible sight below.

Above me, the security officers tried, with no success, to latch on to the chain I was using as a 'rope'. Their angry bellows followed me downwards. Every time I swung inwards, I kicked outwards and played the chain through my fingers. It was no rope, obviously. It _hurt_. My palms were raw when I discovered I'd run out of wall.

Dangling helplessly, I got the fright of my life when civilian ships, their lights cutting through the thin mist, roared around me. Yelping, I was spun around by a particularly forceful blast of exhaust from a speeding vehicle. I spotted a slower-moving vehicle hauling a line of covered trailers and, clenching, let myself go. Landing on top of the canvas cover, my weight broke the cord holding it in place causing me to fall through it. I held my sore hands away from the piles of baggage I now rested on. Twin scars on my palms, taken from a bayonet attack on Grendel had opened up again. Swearing softly, I held both hands to my chest and closed my eyes. My mind once more became my own. What form of madness had taken ahold of me up there in the sewers?

* * *

"Titus? Titus, it's time to get seated."

Little six-year-old Titus climbed down from the trailers where he was 'helping' unload luggage with the servants and came reluctantly over to where his mother, Kora, stood beside their shuttle's ramp. Taking Kora's hand, Titus asked her as he had many times before on their journey when he'd get to see Father.

"Soon," Kora replied as she always had. She was twenty-five, slim, dark and possessed a motherly warmth. She acted, _had_ acted, as her employer's babysitter for their two sons ever since she was fifteen. Their father, a wealthy son of an industrial tycoon had sought a person capable of taking care of his children as his studies at the Schola Progenium prevented him from spending time with them. His wife, a woman of fragile mind who was supposed to help in the boys' upbringing, left the family one day and never returned. Young Kora had slowly grown from a babysitter for the two, Titus and Thomaas, to a surrogate mother. The boys' father, Max, had, when returning to his family on an occasion – Thomaas' ninth birthday – expressed to Kora that he had developed feelings for her. She was eighteen, he twenty years her senior. Despite their age difference, Kora knew him to be a good, kind man and a gentle soul. The two became lovers whilst maintaining the façade of employer and employee. It had been that way for the past seven years. The happiness Kora had felt had been shattered when Thomaas' father had uncovered the fact that has firstborn son liked to sleep with other men. In a rage, Max had beaten Thomaas' bed-mate and shockingly had him executed. In private, Max confided in her as he had done so on many subjects. Concerning Thomaas, he was prepared to disown him and bring up Titus as his heir, not wanting anything to do with a 'sword-swallower'. Kora, desperate to heal the rift that was forming between the family, went to Thomaas and begged him to reconcile with his father. There and then, Thomaas showed his true colours. He forced himself on her, the woman who had brought him up as her son in revenge for his father killing his lover. Realising just what sort of a man he was, Kora had fled their estate with Titus and went to find Max. Memories of Thomaas inside her were burnt into her mind. She was disgusted by what he'd done. Wanting to hit back against his father by raping his mistress, his mother-figure, was simply evil, there was no other word for it. She would make damned sure Thomaas would not be spared the wrath of his father.

"Mother?" Titus bounced up and down on his heels.

"Titus," Kora, looking down at the boy fondly, assumed a playful expression.

"Ooh look, more!" Titus pointed at a hauler bringing three trailers of luggage across the spaceport, the last.

"Titus, you stay here now. Let the adults do the lifting."

"But I want to…"

"You'll be big and strong enough in a few years," Kora ruffled his hair.

"Like Thomaas, he's big and strong!" Titus shouted happily, making the sign of the Aquila.

 _Unfortunately so_.

Kora sighed and let go of Titus hand, stepping down from the ramp.

The last cases were soon to be loaded. Very soon they would be away from the claustrophobic, filthy undercity that reeked of artificial air, exhausts and the stench of millions of people living in close confines. Kora was used to breathing, clean, non-recycled air and having the sky above her head. Everything about Agripinaa was wrong, the industrialised landscape choking the planet, making the air above the ground unbreathable, forcing the populace underneath the surface to live like sweating, infectious rats stuffed in a hole.

Kora would harbour no regrets departing Agripinaa, despite having landed less than five hours before. She wanted more than ever for her and Titus to reunite with Max, for them to be a family again. It would be so.

"Ma-am!" A cry of shock came from one of the shuttle's crew.

"What is it?" Kora ducked underneath the hull, mindful of the engines idling above her head and hurried over to where the trailers had pulled up.

"Someone's in there," the crewman, a Navy veteran who'd been serving Max's family for nigh twenty years after a medical discharge held out an arm to stop Kora from moving closer.

"Which one?" Kora glanced between the three trailers and the automated pilot.

"Middle one, he was covered in blood."

"Armed? Did you see any weapons?" Kora looked back and realised Titus had followed her. "Titus, stay back!" she ordered, raising a hand. To the crewman she said, "Fedot, stand aside."

"Ma-am!" Fedot hissed, his moustache bristling.

Reaching for the damaged corner of the cover, Kora lifted it and drew it back. Two things happened. An urgent shout rang out from the other side of the shuttle, by the sounds of it, much more serious than Fedot's discovery. Kora dragged the canvas cover further off and froze; her mouth agape. A soldier, no more than twenty, bareheaded and bloody-handed was lying amongst the scattered luggage. Seeing Kora's astonished face, the young soldier raised his hands above his head as if offering surrender. Red lines on his palms were weeping blood.

"Ma-am!"

Kora's attention was drawn away from the boy when she heard the repeated shout, more like a plea. Something was very, very wrong.

"Sssh," Kora raised a finger to her lips and dragged the cover back into place. "Secure that," she said to Fedot before running bent-double underneath the shuttle to where another crewman was practically hopping from one foot to the other.

"Alyn, what is it? Is Titus alright?" Kora searched for Titus. Seeing him run down the ramp and into her arms, she picked him up and hugged him.

"Men in uniform, ma-am," Alyn nodded at a four-wheeled security van driving towards them across the landing pad. "They're searching the surrounding ships."

"For whom I wonder." Kora let Titus down and held his hand before approaching the dismounting security officers.

 _I don't believe in coincidences. What did that poor boy do?_ Kora wondered.

"Good morning, Officer. Can I be of assistance?"

"There is a spy in Agrippa, a soldier going under a false identity. We have authority to search each and every vessel currently in berth," the squad leader motioned his men to move in on the shuttle.

"Of course, search away," Kora pulled Titus closer as the heavily armed men moved past on both sides.

"Ma-am, what's going on?" Fedot, an outraged expression on his face, was pushed away from the ramp as the security men trooped aboard.

"A spy is in the city, the officers must search our ship." Moving close, Kora said, in an undertone, " _play along_."

" _Ma-am_ …" Fedot's face darkened.

"A spy? Wow!" Titus hooted.

Kora, Fedot and Titus waited whilst their shuttle was swept. Kora kept up a relaxed expression, knowing the officers would uncover nothing, whilst under the watchful eye of a single armed man standing nearby.

 _That's it, search the ship. Leave the cargo alone._

"All clear, Ma-am," the squad leader and his men returned; their search fruitless. "Sorry for taking up your time."

Kora smiled sweetly. Her pleasant expression vanished when the van roared away. "Get the shuttle ready, we leave now. Titus, go to your seat and strap yourself in."

"But…"

"Go. Alyn, please." Kora motioned for Alyn to take charge of Titus. She and Fedot swiftly uncovered the fugitive who was lying in the same position as he had been before.

"It's alright, my name is Kora." Kora extended a hand to the boy. Grasping his bloody hand, Kora smiled and nodded encouragingly.

"Tried to kill me…" the boy muttered.

"I know. Come." Kora helped him out of the trailer and, pulling an arm across her shoulders, assisted him up the ramp.

Calling back to Fedot, Kora asked him to bring the few remaining bags not yet aboard.

"There, it's alright. You're safe, young man." Kora sat the soldier down in a seat and fastened his harness. Feeling the ship's engines pick up, she pulled a first aid kit from an overhead locker and set about bandaging the boy's hands.

"Who's that?" Titus appeared at his shoulder and stared in wonderment.

"Titus! Go and sit down," Kora hissed over the background roar. The soldier looked to be in a state of shock and was unresponsive. "There." Kora, finishing wrapping the bandages around the boy's bloody hands, snapped the medical kit shut and shoved it back inside the locker before finding her own seat and strapping in.

"Hey, what's your name?" Kora asked after a beat.

"Larn. My name is Larn," the soldier said, his eyes staring into space.

"Larn." Kora looked down at her hands and felt the dark red blood grow sticky.


	5. Chapter 4

11:45 (Agripinaa time)/M41/01-40.999/Praetor-class Shuttle 'Coriolis'/Agripinaa orbit/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

"Agripinaa Air Control's cleared us, Ma-am. We've been allotted a lane."

"Thank you, Alyn. Take us out." Kora stood behind Alyn and Fedot in the Coriolis' cockpit. Despite clearly hearing the conversation between Alyn and the traffic controller, Alyn insisted on informing her of the developments; nine years of naval service talking there.

"Yes, Ma-am, setting course for the Nemesis System." Alyn busied himself with inputting the multi-digit coordinates into the ship's navigator. Each and every space-faring vessel had either a built-in navigation unit which crudely plotted a warp jump in a beeline to the destination or a 'human' navigator. The Navigator was a sanctioned human mutant who possessed the ability to plot a safe path through the Warp by communing with the light of the Astronomicon, a psychic beacon that projected light across the galaxy, allowing ships to use it to navigate through the treacherous currents. Coriolis however did not possess a sanctioned navigator. Kora was aware of Max's distrust of mutants, seeing what one touched by the warp became. He also did not want his sons in the company of one whenever they had to travel. Max was a strong follower of the Imperial faith, being brought up a pious and proper Imperial noble by his father. Naturally, their creed dictated that all abhumans were of lower social standing than they were and hence, should not be mixed with. It was one of the very few subjects Kora and Max disagreed on.

"Coordinates logged. When you're ready, Ma-am." Alyn waited for Kora to give the order.

"Do it. Let us be away from here." Kora watched, her hands clasped behind her back, as the narrow viewport's shutters lowered, shutting out the blackness of space. Grasping a tiny lever, Fedot pulled back on it gently. Behind, in the bowels of the Coriolis, the warmed and charged Warpdrive spooled up, its energy coursing through the ship's systems, preparing the Coriolis for the trip through the Warp. It took only a second before the nerve-jangling whine rescinded into the background, easing up the strain on the ears.

"Ma-am, Warp entered, 11:46, Agripinaa time." Fedot typed the time and place in the ship's logbook.

"ETA?"

"Twenty-seven hours, eleven minutes, four seconds."

"Thank you, Fedot, Alyn. I'll be in the passenger lounge."

* * *

The bayonet glinted in the darkness, pressing down towards my open mouth. Above me, a faceless shadow wrestled for the blade I had hold of. Both palms of my hands had been sliced by the sharpened steel. A thin stream of blood dribbled down my wrists and up my sleeves, making my arms wet. Sensing the weakening resistance, the shadow forced the wicked point through my teeth. Izuru should've been there, like she had before; a guardian angel watching over me. But not this time.

A hand touching my shoulder interrupted my flashback. Slapping it away, I sprang out of my seat and balled a fist.

"Oh!" A young child, a boy of six or seven jumped back, his mouth forming an 'O' shape.

I stared at the boy for a moment then quickly unclenched my fist. "Sorry, our Kid." I turned away and wiped my face down, confused as to where I was. My memory had done a blank. I was in a strange living area with a kitchen on one side and seats on the other with access hatches leading to other places unknown.

"Oh, you're up."

I started at the sound of a female voice. A young woman stepped through an accessway which led up some stairs. What caught my eye most was not her striking features but where her right hand was held. Though I could not remember where I was after my little episode I immediately guessed the woman's hand was touching the grip of a holdout weapon holstered behind her fur-lined cloak in the small of her back.

"S'alright," I said, raising both bandaged hands, palms facing outwards. "The lad just surprised me, s'all. I don't want any trouble"

"Titus?" The woman beckoned to the boy. Scooting over to, presumably, his mother, Titus hid partly behind her cloak and peeked out at me.

"Larn isn't it?" the woman asked, subtly removing her hand from behind her waist.

I nodded.

"Do you want to take a seat?" She gestured at a circular table with a padded seat set into one side of the passenger lounge.

"Thank you." I went and perched on the edge. The woman and her son sat opposite me. She looked at me glancing nervously around and fidgeting. The lad, Titus, was still and silent.

"I'm Kora, this is Titus," Kora said, smiling warmly, "say hello, Titus."

"Hello, Titus." The boy grinned mischievously. I felt the corners of my mouth pick up.

"Is Larn your first name?" Kora asked me.

"No." I glanced downwards at my hands. "First name, Arvin, middle name, James."

"Arvin?"

"James, please." I hated people referring to me by my first name as I believed it sounded too country. I could not remember the last time someone had actually _said_ my name. "Thank you."

"How did you come to be on Agripinaa?" Kora leant forwards and rested her arms on the table.

I felt myself wither under her intense gaze. She reminded me of Izuru.

"Long story. I don't think it's suitable for yer boy to hear."

"Titus?" Kora glanced down at him. "How about you go to your room, I'll be with you soon."

Titus looked worriedly from me to Kora before hopping down onto the floor and toddling off.

"Tell me." Kora sat silent and unblinking as she listened to me recount the events on Grendel. I left out any involvement with Izuru and the Eldar, not wishing to admit to her I'd fraternised with Xenos. It was difficult retelling everything to a stranger and especially one so radiant as her. Her husband was a very lucky man.

"So it was all an accident – no, actually it wasn't. But I had no _choice._ I had no choice. I'm sorry for what I've done." Shaking my head sadly, I said, "'F I could go back and undo it, I would."

Kora had never once interrupted or diverted her attention. On finishing my story, she said, with visible concern in her voice, "I'm sorry too. You've been through hell. I can't imagine what it was like, losing friends, loved ones…" she trailed off, her mind elsewhere.

"Don't wanna talk about it anymore." I looked away from Kora, my voice threatening to crack.

"No, no. I completely understand. I too have suffered."

"Not like me."

"No, not like you."

Eager to change the subject, I raised the question of the boy. "Titus. He yours?"

Kora smiled. "I am his mother in all but name."

"Why?" I tilted my head slightly, my curiosity growing.

"Titus's mother left when he was very little. She was a… she had a condition of which I knew little of. Back then I was a babysitter for Titus' older brother. I have served his family since I was fifteen, for just over ten years. I grew with the children and, in a way, slid into the role of mother-figure when their biological mother left."

"Hm." I tapped my forefinger on the smooth surface. "And the father?"

"Max." Kora's face grew warm. "He's the son of a Manufactorum owner on Mars. He's a good father."

I felt myself half-smile at that. A happy family was not something I was accustomed to. I'd stayed with a couple and their child on Grendel. They'd been happy, only I'd got the father, Risto, killed. Memories of the event were fuzzy. Izuru had sprung out of nowhere and had tried to strangle me. Only Risto's intervention had saved me from asphyxiation. I'd beaten Izuru into submission and was distracted when soldiers appeared. They had opened fire on unarmed crowds and killed dozens, thinking there were armed men amongst them. They were in no mood to piss about when Risto approached them. Despite being unarmed and calling for them not to shoot, Risto had been shot dead.

I tried to hold back tears. Risto's wife, Talia, and his baby son, Eamon, had lost a husband and father respectively because of me. I'd destroyed their family. My face crumpled. Propping my elbow on the table, I put my head in my hand and swallowed.

Seeing my visible distress, Kora stood up and moved around the table to me.

"No, no, no… I'm alright." I wanted her to leave me alone.

"You're not alright, young man." Kora put her hands on her hips and regarded me with pity. "I will get you something."

I shut my ears to the sounds of a meal being prepared in the kitchen. My right ear, the faint ringing audible, was ever-bothersome. I had not thought about my past actions whilst in prison, what I'd done, who I'd killed or got killed. All I had thought about was myself, Izuru and freedom. Now that I was free, to a certain extent, I was faced with memories of Doron, Drow, Saeros, Risto and Corby. Before that even, the Jumael's, cut down in swathes because of a simple typing error in a sentence. A simple yet overwhelming question rose to the forefront of my mind: _By what right are you allowed to live whilst so many before you have died?_

"James?" Kora set a tray down in front of me. On it were several rounds of toasted bread with butter spread all over them. Behind the slices was a steaming mug of coffee.

"I must check on Titus." Kora left me with the food.

At first I did not know how to approach it, spread out on the tray in front of me. It felt wrong, having all of it to myself. In prison the food I had eaten was enough to prevent starvation. That was it. There was no finery, no choice bits, just pitiful morsels in a thin, tasteless stew. I couldn't even begin to describe the meat.

"Is the coffee too hot?" Kora had returned with Titus in tow.

"Nah." I stared at the steam slowly rising. I had forgotten what it tasted like. Reaching for the blue mug, I sniffed and recoiled from the strong, bitter scent.

"Ah, where are my manners; milk." Kora fetched a pair of tiny cartons from the kitchen and offered them to me.

"These are…" It dawned on me that the milk was different to the everyday issue cartons that the Guard used. Dumping both contents into the dark liquid, I swirled them around.

"Real," Kora put. "Thank Rafer Kaukasios for that."

 _Kaukasios._

My heart skipped several beats. Keeping a neutral expression, I continued stirring the coffee.

 _Could the captain I met on board Aegis Fury be the 'Max' that Kora had talked about? That arrogant, uptight, toy soldier didn't strike me as being how Kora had described him._

"Hmm." Questions on the identity of Titus' father, jockeying for position inside my head, abruptly dispersed and headed for the hills when I tasted the coffee.

Rich, warm, dark, invigorating, there were too many words to describe my first hot drink in over three months. It felt like bliss, if such a word could be allowed to exist in the weary galaxy.

"If I may, can I ask how old you are?" Kora asked as I tucked into the toast.

"Nineteen," I said through a mouthful, "spent my nineteenth in prison."

"Why were you in prison?" Titus asked.

"Did a bad thing."

"Are you a bad person?"

"No. No Titus, he's not," Kora said sharply.

"Ye don't know that."

"I'm a good judge of character."

"What's yer judgement of me then?"

"I think you're a kind soul, you hide it deep down though."

"Um…" I rubbed my face. "When yer in combat, ye become someone else, ye gotta harden yerself, detach from everything and act without emotion. I think yer right though. I'd say yer a good person too. Yer very kind." I said to Titus, "yer mother's a wonderful person."

At this, Titus beamed. "We're going to see father, aren't we?"

"Yes, Titus," Kora said, by the sounds of it, the umpteenth time.

"So where ye headed then?" I asked. I'd wolfed down the toast and was eagerly taking down the coffee.

"Nemesis Tessera. We're going to see Titus' father."

"Good." I nodded in agreement. "I gotta report to Nemtess."

"Oh. Well that certainly makes things simpler. Do you know you know where on Nemtess?"

"Uhh, I dunno." I shrugged. "My orders stated to report to the designated platoon, company whatever. Not to where exactly."

"Will it be hot on Nemtess?" Titus asked.

"No, dear. Nemtess is quite cold."

"Cold as in ice?" I wanted Nemtess to be somewhat warm, warmer than Grendel or Platis and much warmer than the biting climate of Bastille despite it being summer when I was there.

"Temperatures are average nine or ten during the day and sub-zero at night," Kora explained.

"Hmm, 'kay."

Titus abruptly left the table and, disappearing for a moment, returned with a small, blue cloth bag held tightly in his fist.

"What's that, our Kid?"

"It's a game"

"Game?" I wasn't sure I understood what he meant by it.

"Titus wants to play. It's a word game," Kora moved the empty tray to one side and helped Titus spread a large pile of tiles, each with a single letter, around.

"Oh, uh…" The prospect of playing a child's game was something else I had trouble comprehending. It was very difficult for me to adjust to all of it. I'd been incarcerated and before that, living the hard life of an Imperial soldier where leisure activities were practically non-existent.

"You take–" Kora began to explain the rules before letting Titus do so.

"Take thirteen tiles from the pile – make sure they are all face down first – and make words with them. Join them all up like a crossword. Once you've used all your tiles, take another from the pile. You do this until all the letters are gone."

"Make sense?" Kora asked, well aware of how unused to this I was.

"Erm, yeah." I nodded.

"Begin." Titus grabbed a fistful of tiles and quickly began to turn them upright. Kora did the same, losing several to Titus when he stole some from her pile. Both he and she laughed, enjoying themselves. I did not.

Arranged before me were thirteen vowels and consonants. My hands worked whilst my mind went to sleep. Words formed before me: _Death, murder, kill._ Staring down at what I'd made, I hastily reshuffled them, frightened at my hands automatically forming them. I couldn't hear Titus and Kora quietly sliding their tiles about, laughing and stealing each other's words. Before my eyes, three names appeared: _Doron, Drow, Saeros_.

"I win!" Titus exclaimed gleefully after a few minutes, displaying his array of intricate words. Kora's, while prominent was more modest. I had those three names and a few spares.

"Oh, you always win, Titus." Kora slapped the desk and looked across at me. "He's so good at this. I can't get an inch on him."

"What did you get?" Titus leant onto the table and regarded my words with confusion. "What are Doron, Drow, Saeros?"

My face was a blank slate. The tabletop I stared through nonexistent.

"Titus, help me clear up," Kora noticed something was wrong and quickly distracted Titus with helping her clear the game away. "Do you mind taking this back? I'll be with you shortly."

"Thanks for the game," Titus said to me. Without waiting for a reply, he left.

"James, do you need anything?" Kora's voice betrayed her worry and concern for me.

I stayed, still as a statue, my only sign of life the gentle rise and fall of my chest, refusing to acknowledge her. All I wanted was to be left alone. Kora apparently understood, refusing to press further. Getting up, she followed Titus out of the passenger area, leaving me as I had been for a very long time.

 _Here they come again_ , I thought. Alone they came to me, the whispers of friends long dead. Despite being so they still resided in my head, often visiting me in my dreams. They never said anything though, just stood still, fixing me with an accusing glare as if to say, _you're the one who got me killed. It's your fault._

Minutes passed. Hours came and went. Day and night did not exist in space. There was only an endless cycle of cold, unforgiving darkness. The very same darkness worming its way into my brain, haunting me with those I failed to protect. Some days I wished I could've joined 'd have accepted me into the halls of the undying, forever feasting with the great heroes of old. The likes of Macharius and Pius who would've raised a toast to me, a hero fallen in service to the Emperor, as they had done for the endless numbers of servicemen slain in the line of duty. But I was not a hero and therefore unworthy of joining my brothers. To live when so many around me had not, was it a condemnation or a blessing?

The Imperial soldier, the lowest of the low, was destined for glorious death in his name. It was what we did: die. Die in countless droves because they told us to. We had nothing to look forwards to in this life so it was the next that we sought. I had survived when all the odds were stacked against me. I'd succeeded the fifteen hours at Broucheroc so long ago and kept going from there, gaining and losing friends in a macabre cycle of death. The Jumael's I'd been with from the start I'd lost when the entire company was annihilated, 199 men, on Bastille. The Vardans, those still standing, I'd been forced to leave behind. The Alderians, several of them I thought of as true friends, would remember me only as a despicable traitor and murderer. I'd, of course, been the culprit in the killing of the Governor's nephew and hence was rewarded as a traitor deserved; with denouncement and death. My separation from Izuru and the other Eldar was the cruellest blow. My heart was filled with bitterness at my own side for their interference.

Several times beforehand, after the horrific massacre in Norn and Risto's death, I'd sworn to try and shake free the binding shackles of the Imperial guard and attempt to make something more out of my life rather than dying for a distant deity who would regard me as nothing more than a playing piece to be swept aside. I'd Live for myself instead.

I was asleep before my head came to rest of the table. I did not feel the warm blanket being draped over my shoulders as I slept.


	6. Chapter 5

00:08 (Agripinaa time)/M41/01-40.999/Praetor-class Shuttle 'Coriolis'/The Warp

* * *

 _Black shadows with red eyes and pointed ears loomed over me. Their faces were illuminated by flashes of orange light. Dozens of hands, sticky and wet, pawed at my face. My eyes, bloodshot and popping, bulged out of my face._

That final visage, a demonic pair of eyes, awoke me. Thinking I was being attacked, I balled a fist and reflexively drew it back. Searching around in alarm, I noticed a woman on the other side of the room look up unexpectedly from a book she was reading.

"It's alright. Get some rest," she said soothingly.

 _Kora._ That was her name.

Relaxing my tensed arm, I shook my head clear of the frightening image. I felt a blanket of some sorts resting across my shoulders. The woollen material was itchy on the back of my neck and made me sweat uncomfortably. I did not need it. My combat jacket was enough to keep me warm.

"Water." I'd been without it long enough for my tongue to stick to the roof of my mouth; the coffee hadn't helped. My throat felt like sandpaper. Swallowing was impossible.

"There's a tap over in the kitchen," Kora said, nodding in its general direction.

The shiny steel tap came away smudged when I gripped it. Dunking my head underneath the cool jet, I slobbered at it like an animal, greedily gulping down more and more. Clumsily I drunk some of down too fast, making me choke some of it back up into the tiny sink. Wiping my mouth on my sleeve, I asked Kora how long I'd been asleep.

"Nearly thirteen hours. There's a spare bunk if you'd like."

"Nah." I didn't like the prospect of sleeping in a comfortable bed. The nightmares might exploit it. "'Ow long is it to Nemtess?"

"Another fourteen hours I'm afraid," Kora said, putting her book down.

"Oh…" I didn't want to try dropping off again. I was tired but awake also, too awake to properly sleep.

Yawning, I sat on a chair opposite Kora. "Yer boy alright?"

"He's fine. He's sleeping."

"I know he's only what, six or seven? But d'ye know what he wants to do when he gets older?"

"No, I do not. It's a funny question."

"I dunno, just wondered."

"Be like his father, in all fairness."

"Can you… just from me, this – this isn't a request or anything but… can you try and dissuade him from joining the service."

"Well…" Kora pushed a strand of hair that had fallen across her face over her ear. "If his mind's made up, his mind's made up. I can only influence him so much. I don't want to force him to not do what he wants. If he wants to be like his father then I don't see why I should stop him."

"Yeah, yeah, of course." I tried a different tack. I wanted for Titus to not be forced onto a similar path as I had been, as nothing good had come out of it. "It changes you. Being in combat and seeing how numbed and callous everyone becomes. People, nice, decent people, who've never 'eld a weapon in their life, are turned into killers who, some of 'em at least, enjoy it. S'quite disturbing, what men can do to one another."

"I understand – well, I don't understand." Kora sighed. "But I get what you're trying to say. The thing is, Titus will, for certain, be sent to a Schola when he turns seven and given the necessary training and conditioning. He'll either join the Youth Brigade or the Navy equivalent and, when he turns eighteen, see where he wants to go from there."

"Huh." So the upper-class twats got to choose what they did. I hadn't been given a choice, just received a letter through the post one day stating that I'd been drafted and that was that.

"Maybe the Navy's a better option. He won't be in so much danger."

"Maybe. But when the time comes it's up to him." Kora unfolded a bookmark and placed it on the page she was at.

"What's the book?" I eyed the red leather hardback with curiosity.

"This?" Kora turned the front cover to face upwards. Tiny gold font glinted in the light.

"Looks old."

"Max's father has a very well-stacked library. His grandfather's father was a renowned bibliophile, spent his whole life building it. Every single bookshelf was handmade out of real wood – real trees. And there were hundreds. The wood was all imported. You don't see many forests nowadays."

"Dunno. Grendel had trees, Platis too."

"Where we live there are vast plains, steppes where it's flat as far as the eye can see. In some places you can see the curvature of the planet."

"What planet's that?"

"Bellerophon. The privileged few, what few there are, have country retreats there. The Kaukasios' have owned land there for a very long time."

"Big house?"

"Vast."

"Many people live there?"

"Servants, twenty-five of them. Titus' brother is there now."

"Didn't he want to come see his father?"

A muscle went in Kora's jaw. "He and Max had a falling out. They did not part on the best of terms."

"Oh, sorry."

"Don't' be sorry. Titus' brother is not a nice person. Spare no pity for him."

"Why? How old is he?"

"Seventeen."

"Something 'appen between you and him, an argument?"

"A disagreement, yes." Kora did not say anything else about the matter. It appeared to be somewhat sensitive to her. Though she did not go ahead and say it outright, she wished to discuss a different topic.

"How about you? Do you have a family back home on your farm?"

That caught me off guard slightly. Frowning, I cocked my head slightly to one side. "Heh, it is a farm, yeah. How can you tell?"

Kora's lip curled. "You don't sound like a Hive-worlder, not foul-mouthed enough."

"Dunno 'bout that," I muttered under my breath.

"You've not been schooled by the Imperium – a Schola I mean. I do not mean to offend but your accent is not upper-class enough."

"None taken."

"You're not from a Forge-world. Your skin's too clean. By your accent, choice of linguistics and appearance, I'd place you on an Agri-world."

"Hmm, Jumael IV." I nodded.

 _How perceptive of her_.

"What's it like?"

"Warm in the summer, cold in the winter. We don't usually see snow though, too far south."

"Your family?"

"Mum, dad, sisters. They'll still be there."

"When did you last see them?"

"Oh…" I added up the weeks and months in my head, coming out as, "nine months. 'Bout half of that was training. Four months. Another month in transition. Three months in prison." I shrugged. "'Bout a month in combat."

"Have they written to you?"

"Maybe, I dunno. They still think I'm with my original unit on Seltura VII or someplace, fighting insurgents. I've changed hands lots now. Not really sure who I belong to anymore."

"You do know though, don't you? You have your orders."

"Yeah, yeah." I patted my breast pocket, feeling the reassuring bulge of my orders. That and my papers, both copies, were, along with my beret, all that I had retained from the episode on Agripinaa. "Never going back there, that's for damn sure."

"No, no. Disgusting place," Kora agreed.

Conversation. Something I'd been sorely lacking the past three months. Talking with Kora helped to alleviate the stress and anxiety I felt. The memory of the nightmares had been banished for now and replaced with thoughts of happier times. Back at home and with my mates, having just come through a scrap. There were no finer people: the Vardans and the Alderians. I made a point of mentioning it to her.

"Titus is gonna meet some fine blokes when he gets on deployment. They'll take care of him well. And he'll do the same too. Wherever he goes, Kora, he'll be in good hands."

Kora smiled. That was encouraging.

"Meet who?" Titus appeared out of nowhere, chipper as always.

"James was saying how you'll meet a lot of nice people if you join the Guard or Navy." Kora resumed her page.

"I want to be like father and Thomaas," Titus said brightly. "Join the Sch – Sch…"

"Schola?" I grinned.

Titus nodded vigorously. I did not notice it but Kora looked subtly crestfallen.

For the next few hours Kora and I kept Titus entertained with games he had brought along. He was too full of energy to sleep and pestered us to play with him. When, at long last, Titus became tired, we packed up and Kora put him to bed.

"There a washroom aboard?" I asked Kora when she returned.

"Just behind the kitchen. The first hatch on the right."

"Ta." I found my way into a tiny washroom containing a walk-in shower, a sink, a toilet, a cupboard and a single mirror. Feeling guilty at having to relieve myself, I went quickly and was surprised when the iron grey unit flushed itself. Removing my jacket, I carefully washed my hands in the sink and dried them off with a towel. The coarse fabric felt rough on my skin implying it hadn't seen much use. The mirror mounted in the bulkhead above the sink was spotless. No dried flecks of spittle or toothpaste marks like the cracked mirrors had back in the barracks on Grendel.

A stranger was leaning on the edges of the sink. Shadows underneath his chin betrayed a growth of stubble which extended up his jaw and across his upper lip. Dark circles underneath his eyes aged him up five years giving him a gaunt demeanour. His hair was three months overdue a trim and looked distinctly non-military. All that remained were his eyes. They were the same pale blue pair that the soldier had been issued with on his induction into the Imperial Guard.

"Who are you?" I stared at the older man's intense, unblinking stare. "Who are you?"

Disturbingly, his lips moved with mine. "I am you," he said matter-of-factly.

"Yer not me." I refused to accept that this man and I were one and the same.

"We are one." His lips drew back in a smirk.

"Leave me alone," I hissed.

"We are alone," he replied.

"No!" I spat, slamming a bandaged palm into the glass, shattering some of it into several large pieces. The action had been taken without thought. I instantly regretted it.

Kora found me standing in front of the mirror looking down into the sink. "I heard a smash. Are you alright?"

"Sorry 'bout yer mirror." I hung my head, ashamed at what I'd done.

"It can be fixed." Kora didn't seem too perturbed at the damage I'd done. Reaching down into the sink, she carefully swept up the three or four shards lying there and tipped them into a bin.

"Um, any shaving kit 'ere?"

"There should be something up in…" Kora opened the cupboard and brought down a washbag. "This belongs to Max. He won't mind if we use it once."

"I never…" I had never needed to shave before and wasn't sure of the process.

"I'll give you a hand. Come on, there's more space outside."

Swivelling a chair around to face another, Kora directed me to sit on one whilst she took the other. "Shouldn't take too long."

I tried to keep from grimacing when Kora applied a white paste to my jaw. "Eurgh. My dad did it this way."

"What other ways are there?" Kora frowned, dabbing underneath my chin.

"Cutthroat razor, big ol' blade." I moved my lips, keeping my jaw as still as possible.

"Oh, they're vile. I can't watch when someone does it. I always think they'll accidentally slit their own throats."

"Yeah." I swallowed.

Kora, now finished applying the paste, took up the razor. "Sorry if I accidentally cut you."

"Mmm-hmm." I held myself rigidly upright, staring straight ahead patiently as Kora went to work. Several times I felt the sharp blades run across my skin uncomfortably. At no point did they ever bite the flesh and draw blood. As I wasn't used to it, it felt like it took forever.

"There, all done." Kora stood back and offered me a towel on finishing off.

"Thanks – aah!" As the towel came away, I felt my skin underneath my fingers.

"Sandpaper?" Kora guessed.

"Y-yeah, _yeah_. How d'ye…?"

 _Just how does she know that?_

Kora just smiled and returned the washkit.

"There's still a while before we reach Nemtess. I suggest you get some sleep," she said when she returned.

"Yes, mum," I said in a very low tone. Louder, I added, "I'll be where I was. Wake me if something comes up."

Kora had heard. Smiling to herself, she went to check on Titus before turning in. The young soldier had left a distinct impression on the boy, acting almost like an older brother; in every way the complete opposite of Thomaas.

* * *

Our drop out of Warpspace occurred during a period of uneventful slumber; for me that is. I was asleep with my head resting in the crook of my arm and my jacket as a makeshift pillow bundled on top of the table. Awakening, I stared in befuddlement at dim red lights shining down from the ceiling.

"Kora?" I yawned. Uncrumpling my jacket, I tugged my arms through the sleeves and slid out from behind the table. My beret I'd removed from my hip pocket to save it from an undignified creasing. This I planted on my head and straightened out.

"Titus?"

No reply. They and the two crewmen were elsewhere in the shuttle.

"Hello?" The darkened tubular accessway I walked down curved away to the left. The red was because the ship was on auxiliary power – even my infantryman's mind set firmly on the ground knew that. The question was, why?

"Kora?" I heard my disembodied voice carry through the corridors.

"In here," Kora's voice replied from not too far away, "the cockpit."

My eyes were taken up with the weird spectacle outside of the Coriolis' forward viewport when I stepped into the cockpit behind Kora. Instead of the dark reaches of space, the blackness I'd expected was a garish pink swirl. Stars poked through the gaps in the 'clouds' providing a deep contrast with what appeared to be some sort of astronomical phenomenon.

"What's that?" I stared, in awe of its strange beauty.

Kora glanced over her shoulder at me but it was one of the crewmen who answered me.

"The Eye of Terror. Our destination lies partially inside its bounds."

"What's the Eye of Terror?" I directed the question at Kora.

"A Warp Storm."

"20 000 lightyears across," the crewman said.

"Where evil dwells," his mate added.

"We goin' in there?" I felt a pang of nervousness on hearing that.

"Only a short distance, James. We have been assured, Nemtess is well protected."

Something else was bugging me. "So why are we on reserve power?"

Kora glanced at the pilot who pointed upwards. "Up high."

It took me a second or two to figure out what the pilot was pointing at. Having recently slept, my eyes were blurry. Rubbing them vigorously, my vision slowly cleared. The object of everyone's attention was a large asteroid floating many hundreds of klicks 'above' the Coriolis.

"An asteroid?"

"Look again." The pilot made a sweeping gesture with his hand.

On second glance the asteroid was much bigger. "What…?" I felt my stomach drop as my eyes followed it further and further. What I'd originally thought was a large chunk of space-floating rock was actually a huge – I mean monstrous – gargantuan, moon-sized asteroid. It did not stop there however. Rather it was part of an even _bigger_ entity. The rock was embedded in the flank of a terrifyingly big ship, only a fraction of which I could see. The majority of it, a black shadow, making our shuttle look like a microscopic germ about to be stamped on by a heavy boot.

"Um… what's that?" I felt myself shrink in fear.

"Space Hulk. What you see now is a very small section of the bows. We came out of the Warp right underneath it."

"Alyn and Fedot killed everything but auxiliary power, that's why we're stationary. They might detect us otherwise." Kora, her arms folded, sounded calm and unconcerned.

"Who? W-what's in there?" My gaze travelled across the ragged structure. There seemed to be many different bits and pieces of ships, somehow fused together forming a nightmarish image of a derelict that drifted the stars.

"Monsters." The fear in Fedot's voice was obvious.

"Scuttled ships sometimes get lost in the Warp where they're slowly broken apart by the ruinous powers. Over hundreds, thousands of years, they mesh together with other vessels, bits of asteroid and one day they appear in realspace, out of nowhere," Alyn said grimly, "no one that ventures aboard ever returns."

"Only the Astartes have ever done so." Fedot made the sign of the Aquila. "They are the Emperor's chosen therefore only they are worthy to accomplish such a deed."

"Why would they go aboard?" I wondered aloud.

"A centuries-old vessel might contain relics, weapons long forgotten, maybe STCs even." Kora said.

"What're STCs?"

"Standard Template Constructs. Blueprints of ancient tech the Imperium either lost or forgot. They are very valuable."

"Oh," I said mildly. I wondered how Kora knew so much about the subject but kept quiet about it.

"We're waiting a bit until we move on impulse. We're a speck of dust to them so we shouldn't be detected."

 _Let's hope._

"Titus!" Kora felt Titus hand take hold of hers. "Back to bed with you."

"What's that?" Titus's stared, his mouth wide open up at the Hulk.

"An asteroid." Kora steered Titus out of the cockpit. "Come on."

"The lights went out…" I heard his voice fade away.

"Are we ready to move?" she asked after putting Titus to bed and returning to the cockpit.

"On your order, Ma-am." Alyn stood ready to engage the tiny manoeuvring thrusters. Fedot too was standing by.

"Do it." Kora nodded.

"Nice and easy…" Alyn gently engaged the thrusters.

This didn't seem to have any effect from my point of view. The shadow stayed in the same place as it was, hovering menacingly above our heads. We looked to be moving at a crawl.

"So, how long will it take to reach Nemtess?" I asked, my eyes glued on the Hulk.

"Three and a half hours, travelling at sub-warp speeds. Nemtess is eighteen million klicks directly ahead of us. Now because of this, it's going to take a lot longer."

"How long?"

"I don't know," Kora said quietly.

"Can't we just gun it?"

"We're too close to it. If they have even one operational battery aboard we're…"

"Binned." I used the unofficial Guard term for being killed or worse. The two ex-Navy glanced at each other, unused to hearing infantry slang. It was a blatant reminder of just how out of my element I was.

The Coriolis crawled forwards at a painstakingly slow pace. Travelling under malevolent shadow of the Hulk, it was our only option.

I felt my gaze constantly drawn to the Hulk, hanging stationary above our heads. It possessed a strange magnetism where, it seemed, looking at it for too long made it seem like it was mirroring our movement. A tiny glint of light, pinprick-size, shone for the briefest moment from before disappearing.

"I saw a light," I gasped. "Up in the Hulk."

"Kill it, kill everything." Alyn's fingers flew over the console, terminating power to the systems.

"Tell me exactly where." Fedot stood up.

"Uh, up – up there." I pointed upwards. "'Bout there, behind the – the engine, engine exhaust."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, positive."

"Start her up again, Alyn. Dead slow then change your vector. See if it follows."

"Yes, Ma-am."

Once more, Alyn eased up the thrust. Then, after a beat, he set a new course into the navigator. "Course changed."

Fedot, his attention on the controls, indicated me to keep an eye on the Hulk.

"Executing." Alyn's new course took us away from the Hulk, roughly forty-five degrees to the left; whatever that was in nautical terms.

"Give it some more, Alyn," Kora ordered.

"I can't tell whether it's following us or not." I shook my head, dismayed. I couldn't even see the whole ship, just a small section. Staring intently, I saw, or thought I saw, several fingers of darkness, even blacker than the ship they extended from, stretch out towards us. "Uhh, something's coming towards us," I cried.

"What?" Fedot craned his neck to see what I had noticed. "Alyn, micro-jump, now!"

"The Warpdrive's not fully recharged, we won't have long –," Alyn blurted.

"Do it, do it!"

Fedot's fluster surprised Kora. She'd never seen him lose his cool like that. "What is it?" she asked me, pulling me back so I wasn't under their feet.

"Dunno. Something dark came out of the Hulk, think it's interested in us."

Kora was oddly calm for a civilian, I noted. I was quite frightened of the uncanny derelict yet she didn't seem the least bit rattled. Taking a peek at the Hulk again, I watched the darkness unfurl in preparation to snatch us out of the vacuum.

"No time for coordinates, we're gonna make this a fast one." Alyn gripped the tiny lever.

"Wait – the shutters!" Fedot pulled a control stick set in the console above his head.

"Jumping now – Cover your eyes!" Alyn activated the Warpdrive whilst the shutters had yet to close fully.

Dropping onto my knees next to Kora, I clamped a hand over my eyes and pressed my face into my elbow. The resounding flash that followed the loud whine of protest from the partially-charged Warpdrive was painful, even with my eyes tightly shut and buried in the crook of my elbow.

The fingers of darkness stretched out to me inside my head. The owners, their faces in shadow, wore wide grins and had teeth sharpened to points. Out of their mouths flicked tongues, grotesquely sliced in half down the middle and, like with their skin, were filled with brutal piercings. Their voices, harsh and grating, filled my mind with inhuman chanting.


	7. Chapter 6

?:?/M41/01-40.999/Praetor-class Shuttle 'Coriolis'/The Warp

* * *

"Disengage!"

Scarcely two seconds after the blinding flash the incandescent howl of the Warpdrive faded. Diminishing to a background murmur, the engines powered down, overworked from exertion.

 _Are we alive?_ My Warp-frazzled brain ached in protest from the tremendous quantities of light that had shone into the cockpit inbetween the partially-closed shutters.

Lifting my head up, my eyelids opened. The same bright pink smear covered the 'horizon'. Instead of endless vacuum, a tiny planet was silhouetted against the clouds, its surface, facing away from the local star, was entirely black.

"My eyes." Fedot's hands were clamped over his face.

"Can't see." Alyn too had been affected.

"Kora…" Blinking, I swivelled around on my backside. Kora had cannily turned herself around. She'd had her back to the Warp and looked none the worse for wear.

"Let me see." Kora, her eyes blinking, examined my face.

"What are–," I protested when she held the lids of my right eye open and surveyed my pupils.

"You're fine. Looking into the Warp without eye protection can cause temporary blindness." Concluding that I was fine, she briskly moved on. "Fedot, Alyn, how bad?"

"Eurgh, I hope this is temporary, Ma-am." Fedot's teeth were clamped together, visible underneath his hand that was still shielding his eyes.

"Let me see – both of you." Acting very much the medic, Kora evaluated the two and likewise put their condition down as only temporary. "Now I must check on Titus." She bustled past, leaving me to stand awkwardly behind the two crewmen.

Despite the visual impairment, both men acted as if nothing was wrong, calmly and silently killing the drive; bringing us to a relative halt.

Thoughts of the eerie space wreck ran through my head, the fingers of darkness too, stretching out towards us as well as the indecipherable chanting in the unknown language. It was something I'd never experienced before, the surreal nature of the Warp and those associated with it; whoever they were.

Kora, the cool and unflappable civilian was becoming a mystery to me. No mere civvy with zero training would be _that_ cold-blooded in the face of deadly danger. There was something else to her.

 _Who is she?_ I wondered, stumbling from the cockpit and out into the red-lit corridor. The power was returning to normal levels, hopefully providing us with light and heat once more.

Ahead of me the tubular accessway began to lengthen. Longer and longer it stretched until I lost sight of it in the distance. A ripple passed through it. Slowly it tilted sideways. I didn't realise it was _I_ who was keeling over until a steadying hand caught me underneath the arm.

"Come on, Son." The speaker, a male, whose voice I remembered from somewhere helped me along. My head lolled forwards, preventing me from looking across at my faceless companion.

" _Whoareye?_ " My words came out slurred as if I was drunk.

"Don't remember me, do ya?"

The sing-song accent betrayed him: _Stazak._

"Stazak?" Lead weights were hanging from my head. I began to flag.

"Got you good didn't they, Boyo?"

"Help me…" I muttered. Stazak was holding me up by one side but it wasn't enough. "Don't leave me here."

Ahead the corridor was endless. From alcoves in the wall, shadows, standing tall and silent watched as I struggled past. To fall there was to submit to them.

"I can't go on." My left side was weakening.

"You must." A new voice, female, said urgently.

"Izuru?"

Another hand, warmer and gentler than Stazak's saved me from falling. Both Izuru and Stazak were at my sides, assisting my passage past the shadows.

"Izuru?" I desperately wanted to see her face again but like with Stazak's I found it impossible.

"Listen for a moment," her voice whispered in my ear. "Do not trust the woman. Do _not_ trust the woman."

"Why?" I implored. "Why not?"

"She is not what she seems. You know it."

"She's right, Son," Stazak agreed. "Kora's a mystery. I wouldn't 'ave been so eager to spill your guts to 'er, all 'cause of a pretty face. Ya think it's alright to tell 'er all 'bout yourself, where you live, what you've done; are ya daft?"

"Get away from her as soon as possible, James."

"Exactly what she said."

"Do not trust Kora."

As if a switch had been thrown, the lights came back on. Staggering into the passenger area, I fell onto my knees and slowly fell face-forwards onto the smooth floor.

"Are you alright?" Kora had entered simultaneously and, seeing my predicament, rushed forwards to help.

I was heartened by her apparent concern for me however Izuru and Stazak's words, still running in circles in my head, rapidly organised themselves into the very forefront of my mind.

 _Do not trust Kora._

 _What choice do I have now? If she wanted me dead then why am I still alive?_

"Oh uh, yeah, I'm fine," I said, clearing my throat and shaking my head clear.

"Sit. Rest. You'll feel better."

After sitting me down, Kora left me to my own devices which I was glad of, as I now felt a trifle uneasy whenever I was around her. My concerns for her were not as high as they had been before. Little Titus, innocent and inquisitive, whom I was beginning to like but was afraid of him falling under Kora's shadow and slowly being influenced by whatever was behind her motivations I suddenly felt very protective of. The older brother too, Thomas was it? Just what had happened between him and Kora for her to take Titus and run to his father? Suddenly this family did not seem so happy and close-knit.

Titus' sudden appearance brought forth a look of concern from me. "Whatcha doin' out of bed, our kid?"

"Can't sleep. The lights went red. It was scary." Titus reached forwards and poked at my beret which I'd placed on the tabletop.

"I know. I was scared too." I watched him press his fingers into the soft cloth.

"You're a soldier. Soldiers don't get scared."

I grinned. "We do. All the time. Everyone's scared when they get a contact. But then yer training takes over. When ye start fighting back, you've got no time to think 'bout being scared."

"What's contact?"

"Contact's when ye get shot at by the enemy. Most times ye don't even see them, just the flashes from their guns. It's alright to be scared."

"Father always said that battles are fought by huge formations of soldiers standing proud and tall with fixed bayonets glinting in the sunlight. They march forwards resolutely into enemy gunfire whilst chanting battle hymns."

It was a child's idea of what war was like. And apparently Captain Kaukasios was of the same mindset. He couldn't have been more wrong. Poor Titus, by his recollection, had had it drilled into his head by his father, hoping to groom him into a similar toy soldier. Thinking on how to reply to that, I decided to let him down gently. "Titus, our kid… I've been in combat before and I can say that there are no formations, no banners and no battle hymns being sung. What ye dad told ye 'bout it was wrong. 'As he ever been in combat before?"

"No." Titus shook his head.

"Then what does he know, huh? He may be ye dad but that don't make him right."

"But he…" Titus' face fell.

I was sorry to shatter his dreams but he needed to know _exactly_ what soldiering was like. His father had this blinkered and narrow-minded artist's view of the battlefield. Titus needed to see past the rampant prejudice, jingoism and xenophobia that ran in the Imperial system and go into boots with a clear picture of what he was getting himself into. I felt that I was the only one who could warn him of the horrors an Imperial serviceman could experience.

"Father said the Emperor guides us, that he is by our side praising us as we give our lives in His name."

Leaning over, I laid a hand on his. "Listen. Ye listenin'?"

"Yes." Titus nodded several times.

"The Emperor's not by yer side, 'e's not there at all. When ye get a contact, all you've got's yer mates. If ye got them on yer left an' yer right side an' yer facin' forwards then yer doin' it right. Trust yer mates and they'll trust you. No one can beat ye then."

Titus smiled, thankful for the knowledge I'd shared. I ruffled the boy's hair and placed my beret awkwardly on his head. It was far too big for him. "There. Yer a soldier now."

"I want to be a soldier, like you." Titus's face lit up.

"Thought ye said ye wanted to be like yer brother, Thomas."

"Mmm…" Titus' eyes, partly covered by my beret, were filled with uncertainty.

"What 'appened between yer brother and yer mother?" I could see Titus hesitating as if frightened at what he was being asked about. I wanted to know what had gone on and tried to press him as gently as possible.

"Please don't tell her," Titus mumbled, biting down on his thumbnail.

"Not a word." I promised.

"I couldn't sleep one night so I went out of my bedroom. The servants never noticed me move around. I use tunnels in the ceilings and walls, my own secret passages."

"Secret passages – I like that." I chuckled.

"I heard someone shouting, further away. Thomaas and Kora were arguing."

"'Bout what?"

"I couldn't see them. I could hear some words. I didn't understand them."

"What words? Can ye remember any of 'em?"

"Only one. It was… reconci–"

"Reconcile?"

"That's it!"

"Why would Kora want ye brother to reconcile with ye father?"

"I don't know." Titus quite obviously didn't understand what I'd just said. I'd been speaking aloud and didn't expect him to answer, the poor lad.

"Anything else?" I asked gently.

"Kora started crying and – and Thomaas was laughing. I think he hurt her." Titus sniffed. He was on the verge of tears. "I covered my ears."

"Hey, c'mon our kid, head up." I snatched a box of tissues from a drawer and gave Titus a handful. Each clean white cloth had a tiny Imperial Aquila printed on the corner and a short benediction to the Emperor. Titus blew his nose, the contents of it splattering the Aquila and covering the neat black print with green snot which I couldn't help but notice. The irony being the pious Imperial noble's son, aspiring to serve the Emperor, was defacing his sigil and the very words that had come out of his mouth.

"I don't want ye tellin' Kora 'bout what ye said."

"No. I haven't told her anything."

"Lips sealed?" I mimed closing my lips with a zipper.

"Lips sealed." Titus followed my example.

Kora, looking worried, appeared in the passenger lounge. On seeing Titus with me, her worry turned to relief. "You weren't in bed, Titus. I was worried."

"S'alright, 'e's with me," I said. "Alright mate, back to bed with ye."

"Aww." Titus slid my beret back across to me before getting down from the table and heading back to bed.

I was almost ready to drop off once more when a rumbling jolted the shuttle. "Whassat?" I pressed my beret onto the crown of my head and looked around in alarm.

Kora, not at all confused, had already taken off for the cockpit, her response much faster than a normal civilian's would be.

"What is it?" I rounded the corner and skidded to a stop behind Kora who was leaning over Fedot's chair.

"Thank you, Nemtess ATC. Out." Kora had been speaking to someone over comms. Just who it was came apparent when two starfighters appeared on our flanks, acting as our escorts apparently.

"Are they for us?" I asked.

"We were hailed by Nemtess Air Traffic Control. That shudder was a warning shot 'cross our bows when we didn't reply."

"They're escorting us to berth." Fedot, his sight returning, added.

"Where?" I peered out the planet slowly filling our viewscreen. I could see no dock though that may have just been the darkness this side of Nemtess was in.

Another thought occurred. "Did ye mention the Space Hulk?"

"I'll mention it to the port authorities when we dock," Kora said.

"There." Alyn pointed at a greyish sphere that had caught some of the light. "Looks like it."

"Your sight coming back?" Fedot glanced at his colleague to nods of agreement.

* * *

The space dock was the same giant circular structure that I'd seen above Grendel, albeit the thirty or so docking arms were far busier, this being one of the Imperium's most forward outposts, having to cope with a near-constant flow, both in and out, of vessels; military and commercial. Aside from the bustling dock, the many traffic lanes were likewise packed, some with big capital ships flying alone, others tiny corvettes and convoy escorts preparing for another hazardous run to nearby worlds. The vast majority of this had to come through the Cadian Gate which, presently, was the most heavily-fortified world in the Imperium, except of course, Terra.

 _Only the Imperium can make space look crowded_ , I thought.

Kora and I stayed in the cockpit to watch the docking procedure. Much the same as when I'd witness the shuttle dock with Aegis Fury, there was a lot of pinpoint manoeuvring, requiring a near-total lack of motion. Furthermore we were required to rotate 180 degrees to face, in nautical terms, outboard. This I found out was the hard part as afterwards a mechanical 'tug' extended outwards from the dock in a similar fashion to the umbilical tube from Aegis Fury and latched onto our stern before gradually pulling us unto the close confines of the berth.

"There, nice and easy." Fedot went ahead with the shutdown sequence.

"Heh, tell you what," Alyn copied the process for his side of the cockpit, "I lied about being able to see."

"Hasn't dampened your helmsmanship though," Fedot replied humourlessly.

Alyn shot a glance at Fedot, a slow grin spreading across his face. Fedot let out a bark of laughter shortly followed by Alyn.

"Come." Kora beckoned before leaving the cockpit. "I must attend to Titus."

I was surprised at the sparse amount of luggage mother and son had brought with them, totting up to a grey holdall for Kora and a small rucksack for Titus. It was still more than I had though. My Imperial I.D. was all I had to my name, both the real and fake ones. The latter I remembered to destroy thoroughly, tearing the tough card into pieces and folding them up tightly. I consoled myself that I could go back to being who I was when I slipped my I.D. into the plastic cover and pocketed it.

"Whatcha got in there, our kid?" I looked down at the bulging rucksack Titus had at his feet.

"Toys," he answered plainly.

"Ready, Titus?" Kora picked her own luggage up. Titus however handed his pack to her.

"Oi, gotta learn to carry yer own stuff." I said gently. In response to this, Titus thrust his pack at me. "Then again, sometimes ye find yerself having to help a mate along." I grinned, kneeling down and taking the pack.

"Don't leave." Titus' voice quivered.

"Hey. Don't want ye all worried 'bout me. I'll be fine, I promise." I clapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Make a good soldier someday, ye will."

"Shall we?" Kora led the way down the gently sloping passage and down the ramp, out into the chilly docking bay where hundreds of other soldier, sailors and civilians were disembarking from their respective vessels.

Instead of walking alongside Kora, Titus was at my side. I felt a strong brotherly bond with the little lad. He was clever for a six year-old, wiser than his years. The boy's innocence and good nature reminded me of myself, long ago. I hoped fervently the Imperial machine would not do to him what it had done to me.

The influence I'd had on him was shown when, at check-in, Kora explained she was a mother travelling with her child to meet his father but did not mention me at all despite the fact that I was standing just behind her. The sallow-faced Clerk, tubes running from his brain to a faintly glowing machine behind him, all wires and cogs, arched a preposterously angled eyebrow and indicated the serviceman; me.

"He's my brother," Titus crowed.

That seemed to satisfy the Clerk, whose eyebrows returned to normalcy. Swiftly typing on a keyboard, without even looking at it, three identical passes attached to chains were spat out of a grimy chute. I caught Titus' eye and whispered my thanks. Titus winked in return. My pass was accepted without a hitch and, once Titus and Kora were processed, we were free to move to the transport hub.

Journeying through iron grey corridors festooned with surveillance at every angle, I noticed various bold signs plastered on the walls such as: _No smoking._ Or: _Fear the Xeno, hate the Xeno, purge the Xeno._

Another one, a huge pin-up, depicted a spit-and-polish guardsman standing ramrod-straight with a hard expression on his chiselled features and looking slightly up and to the left. Above him was the caption: _This is your friend. He fights for freedom._ I wondered exactly how long the poor bloke whose likeness had been used had to stand in that awkward posture. I laughed under my breath as I knew how hard it was to stand at attention whilst wearing forty pounds of gear.

A vastly different poster, set apart from the others, depicted a snarling, corrupted marine. _When you steal_ _Imperial_ _equipment, tools and personal property_ … It said. Below him it continued: _You_ _are his_ _bitch!_

I stifled a laugh at that one, though it wasn't as if it didn't make sense. I'd long since stopped falling for Imperial propaganda.

A familiar screen awash with scrolling yellow text dominated the spacious hub. The place was so crowded we were in danger of losing one another.

"Titus, hold my hand," Kora said sternly, clasping the boy's hand tightly.

"C'mon, lad." I took hold of his other hand and lifted him through a few narrow gaps between parties that threatened to trample him underfoot.

A smell I had not experienced for more than three months, Agripinaa an exception, filled my nostrils. Boot polish and the musty smell of uniforms compiled with the musk of many dozens of human bodies. Some were smelly, ground troops coming away on leave likely, others were clean and well groomed, naval officers and ratings I'd wager.

The multi-coloured sea of berets attached to heads, both light and dark-skinned, many bobbing up and down, a good deal trying to get a look at the timetables, looked like an artist's interpretation of the unit diversity in the Guard. Shined regimental badges positioned above the right eye made my bare beret look forlorn and lonely. I caught sight of a soldier, a para or droptrooper in a maroon beret. His winged badge, unlike every other unit, was positioned much further to the right so far that it looked like the trooper was, 'out of fucking uniform', to quote a certain drill NCO who shall not be named. This placement was reserved for all airborne-qualified forces and _only_ them. It was an honour to count oneself amongst the elite, something I could never hope to be.

"I like that one." Titus pointed at a trio of green berets we'd just passed.

"Reconnaissance boys," I said. "Hard bastards."

Kora cleared her throat and looked round at me, her eyebrows raised, prompting a hasty apology. I'd forgotten that, since I was in the company of a young child, I needed to watch my language.

"I like the colour," Titus said.

"Yeah, so do I."

"Green's my favourite colour."

"Ha, mine too."

"Kora likes yellow."

"Hmm, don't really think anything goes with yellow."

Kora, being excluded from our conversation, had let go of Titus' hand and had found a less-crowded spot to check the timetables. "There's a shuttle heading down to the planet in seven minutes, military personnel only."

"Oh." I glanced down at Titus. "Sorry, our kid. My shuttle's leaving soon, I can't go with ye."

"Why?" Titus, his mouth open, made swift glances between me and Kora.

"Soldiers only," I said regretfully, slipping Titus' bag from my shoulder and handing it to him.

"I want to be a soldier." Titus clutched at straws, desperate not to be parted with his newfound brother.

"Ye will be." I knelt down. "One day." I hugged him and stood back up. Turning to face Kora, I said. "Thank ye for takin' me in. For everything ye've done."

"Here." Kora placed a handful of credits in my hand and closed my fingers around them. "Something."

"No – no, no, I can't. I owe _you_." I refused to accept the money and tried to give it back.

"Please." Kora insisted. Then, in a low voice she said. "You've been a better brother than Thomaas ever has. I wish you good fortune." Leaning forwards, her lips brushed the air around my cheek.

Taking that as my cue to depart, I turned and, without a backwards glance, slipped away into the crowds.

The warm smile on Kora's face slowly disappeared to be replaced with a cold stare.

 _A shame. He was such a nice boy._

Casually brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face, Kora's finger touched a tiny round device inserted in her ear. She whispered two words; a command.

"Follow him."


	8. Chapter 7

Mid-afternoon/M41/01-40.999/Nemesis Tessera Space Dock/Nemesis system/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

The two nondescript-looking soldiers received the signal without word or comment and acquired the target.

Both were seasoned career NCOs. One, the senior of the pair, was a long-serving member of 16 Air Assault Brigade, a Cadian airborne unit with a proud yet bloody history. The other, no less hardened, had been on many deployments with the Special Reconnaissance Regiment, a high-pedigree organisation that had the rare liberty of hand-picking the cream of the Imperial Guard to fill their ranks. Ruthlessly trained both in mind and body, they praised the Emperor all day, every day, thanking him with each round fired, each pint of blood spilled and each life taken.

It had come as a surprise when the non-com's were pulled from their units and returned to their respective brigade headquarters. They were being sent on 'special duties', so their commanding officers had told them. Both, far too disciplined to inquire as to what could be more hazardous than their current mission, took their assignments without question. Of course officially they were still with their units and would continue to draw pay from them, becoming two phantoms that existed only on paper. Unofficially they were both now in the hands of a force operating outside Imperial jurisdiction. It was plainly obvious to them who it was though to state the name aloud would have invited immediate and unconditional execution.

Through drops and messengers, the two had been posted this way and that, never knowing where they were going or what they were doing. To both veterans it seemed to amount to nothing but a waste of time until an anonymous tip-off had ordered them to report to a distant outpost in the Nemesis system. Arriving at the designated location, they found, a handheld tracker, two tiny comm beads hidden on the inside of a rusted iron support beam and a message to await further instructions. For hours the NCOs hung around, patiently scanning the crowds leaving and entering the hub and listening into their hearing devices.

A subtle nod from one to the other relayed an important development. A woman with a young child, very out of place amongst the servicemen and civilians, had appeared. Glancing to her right, her eyes recognised the out-of-place non-com's standing well apart from one another.

"Your target is the soldier holding the child's hand."

"Yes."

"Yes. See." Both men acknowledged, their lips merely twitching. The soldier, little more than a boy had hold of the child's hand when he moved into view beside the woman.

"Make it look like natural causes."

 _Natural causes?_

The S.R.R. NCO glanced momentarily at the other. He could see the pieces shuffling in his mind, devising a suitable plan of attack. S.R.R. troopers could kill expertly and silently in more than a dozen different ways if needed, however arranging the, still-warm, victim in such a convincing position that any who studied it would believe without a doubt that the cause of death could only be natural was a good deal more difficult.

 _It'll need to be a freak accident_.

The S.R.R. NCO watched the soldier kneel down in front of the child, presenting his unprotected back. A fierce glance from the woman stayed them from acting.

 _Not here, too many people_.

The non-com stopped and withdrew discreetly, his colleague mirroring his movements. Retreating, the two professionals watched, focused and unemotional as the woman kissed the soldier on his cheek and bade farewell. Something had been passed between them.

 _Credits._

A gentle vibration from the tracker held loosely in the NCO's palm revealed the true purpose of the exchange. Had he been capable of it, he would've been amused by the way the woman was playing the hapless boy.

 _Why him, why this little lad? What's he done to piss these cunts off?_

He caught himself. Thinking that way would, at the crucial moment, possibly make him hesitate. Doing so would spell death for him. He was a professional soldier. Killing was his business much the same as carpentry was a carpenter's business; a job. This was his job.

"Follow him." Two words, low and devoid of emotion came from the woman's mouth before she turned away in the opposite direction with the child.

Their authorisation granted, the pair waited for the soldier, in a state of blissful ignorance, to pass between them before looking across at one another. Nothing was said, just a gesture with the eyes.

 _Follow him_.

* * *

I became aware of the tail almost instantly. Two men, heavy-set and of medium height were following me at a distance through the crowds. It set my mind racing. Thoughts of the incidents on Grendel or Agripinaa, both of which I'd escaped any pursuit, roved back and forth.

 _Don't run, walk!_

I stopped and knelt down to tighten my puttee which had gradually loosened over time. Keeping my head down, my eyes watched, in a reflective surface, the two suddenly turn away to try to blend in with another party. Both wore No.2s and both were at least sergeants from the chevrons on their shoulders. One had a maroon beret worn in the airborne fashion, the other wore an emerald grey beret belonging to a unit I did not know. If appearances were anything to go by, which they were by the looks of things, these two were veterans, hard as slant-eyed drill instructors who chewed nails, swallowed glass and shit promethium. I did not want to tangle with them.

 _Who are you, Kora? Who do you work for?_ I wondered, keeping my pace casual. So, beautiful, intelligent, motherly Kora was on a payroll – whose?

 _And these twats – do they mean to kill me, or to shadow me?_

I felt two pairs of eyes, hard and pitiless, burn marks into my back. I had around five minutes to board the shuttle. I could've made it in two yet it would've left them the all too easy task of simply following me aboard and having me cornered during the descent to the planet's surface where they'd be able to keep me under constant surveillance whilst planning their moves.

 _I need a distraction, something to change my appearance._

To run would only let onto my two tails that I wasn't as unaware as they thought, ramping up their pursuit and attracting everyone's attention as well as security. After Agripinaa I was keen not to be the object of another manhunt.

 _Be calm_ , I reassured myself. Among the sea of berets I was safe, to a certain extent. I doubted the two thugs would be _that_ adept at killing in plain sight. If anything, they'd want to get me alone before acting.

Then, just like that, a plan formed.

 _The berets!_

What the thugs were looking for – their main method of identifying their target – was the colour of my beret! All around were different colours, waiting for me to adopt. I was in the middle of a thick crowd. All it would take to form a barrier of arms, legs and bodies between me and the tail was several scattered covers.

As I walked past a group of infantrymen, I reached out to the closest one's head. My fingers dug underneath the crown of the beret pulled down over the man's right ear and jerked it off. The moment I did so, I hurled it away and targeted another.

"Oi, what the fuck are ye doing?" the, now bareheaded, infantryman turned and tried to shove his wide shoulders through the crowd after me, incensed at having his cover stolen.

I repeated the same process with many others. Each man and woman I deprived of their cover angrily shouted after and attempted to apprehend me, falling over themselves, others and those fortunate enough to be off of my warpath. I heard the noise rise sharply as Guard and Navy dove about the floor for their, now trampled and quite dirty, berets, one of which, a light grey cover, I kept, exchanging my blue one for it. No doubt they'd receive a bollocking from either senior NCOs or officers for their untidy appearance; not that I cared.

Snorting with satisfaction, I slipped away from the roaring crowd and hurried away down a seedy corridor.

* * *

 _Clever bastard_.

The S.R.R. man watched the target fire up the crowd, forming a human barricade by snatching berets, left, right and centre, from craniums and scattering them. Otherwise causing a great deal of disarray, perfect for him to slip away unnoticed.

 _Now it's on_.

His partner had got into a spot of bother and was unable to push forwards, being on the busiest side, leaving the S.R.R. Sergeant to skirt around the worst of the trouble and continue on.

 _Where are you, you little bollocks?_

One skill that every recce trooper was trained vigorously in was surveillance. As reconnaissance their mission was to observe the enemy, track his movements, strength and position before reporting back. During the process, some form of sixth sense was developed and heightened when on ops. This occasion was no different. It was just another op.

 _Gotcha_.

The S.R.R. man had noticed the target walk into a small exchange which was under the management of the Munitorum that sold all manner of provisions for military personnel. In place of the dark blue beret, he now wore a light grey cover, of the Imperial Dragoon Guards no less.

 _Clever boy, but not clever enough,_ the Sergeant remarked. He'd fool those less competent, but not recce.

Through a gap he watched the, newly anointed, Dragoon Guards Trooper exchange some credits with the Munitorum Logistician and leave from a different exit.

 _Damn, where'd he go?_

Producing the tracker, he watched the tiny red light blink in the middle of the screen. Even out of sight he could still track the target. The device however did not take into account three-dimensions so it would show exactly where the target was, just not whether he was on the same floor.

" _Bollocks_ ," the S.R.R. veteran swore softly when he realised the tracker, hidden in the money, led to the counter where the Logistician stood.

 _That cunning little shit's spent it!_

"Can I be of assistance, Sergeant?" the Logistician asked.

Glaring, the Sergeant ignored the Logistician and pocketed the useless device. He left the exchange and pressed a finger to his earpiece. "Status?" He conferred with his partner.

"Slow going, won't be able to rendezvous. Still have the target?"

"Negative, proceeding."

The odds were now less awkwardly balanced in the veteran's favour. Normally he would've waited for the rest of his unit to catch up and consolidate but now that the target had shown he was not a daft drip, he was reluctant to do so. The clock was ticking in his mind. He knew which shuttle the target was due to embark on and the time until departure. If the target reached the planet and the main base, their job would be a hundred times harder as he would be reporting to a unit and hence be under the protection of the commanding officer. It had to be done _now_.

The price of failure hung over the veteran's head as he stalked the, presently out of sight, soldier. The shadowy figures of authority that were behind this would show no mercy to him, his partner, their families or any known associates for that fact. Each and every one of them, regardless of gender or age, would be tortured and put to death before being obliterated.

* * *

The bottle of water sloshed gently in my pocket as I clambered up a flight of stairs, two at a time. My path to the shuttle took me along a short, back corridor with alcoves extending into the shadows on both sides. Glancing above confirmed there were no eyes watching from behind screens. It was time to stand and fight.

Easing off my pace, I heard footsteps drawing closer from behind. Casually taking a gulp from my bottle, I chugged down as much as I could hold in my mouth. My cheeks full to bursting, I waited for my moment. Then, looking over my right shoulder suddenly, I spat the water out at the man in the grey beret. Grunting In surprise and, I suspect, caught completely off-guard, he reflexively screwed up his eyes and stumbled backwards. Twisting around, I opted for a quick jab with my elbow with all my weight thrown into it. On this occasion it paid off as the rounded bone smacked the man in the eye, making him yelp. The tough NCO however was not going down from a mere splash of water and a quick jab to the face.

Keeping up my attack, I dove my right hand, my weaker, into his stomach. Just before connecting I angled my palm upwards, targeting below the ribcage.

" _Ooomph_." I heard an explosive rush of air escaping the man's body. Winded, I hoped the fight would have gone out of him. My hopes were dashed when, the element of surprise now gone, the non-com counter-attacked. After going through some sort of fancy unarmed fighting trick, I was thrown to the floor. Both knees had been scraped and my palms were red and aching.

"You little bastard." The wet-faced NCO towered over me. Drawing back a boot, he prepared to bring the heavy, hobnailed heel down on my head.

"Oi, matey," a new voice, amused by the sounds of it, prompted the NCO to look up. The moment he did, a fist flying in from out of nowhere connected with his temple, knocking him backwards into the alcove where he received another knock from a handily-placed support beam. That, when applied to his cranium with force, made a nice clunking sound.

"Not a good idea gettin' in fights with S.R.R., mate." A tankie grinned down at me. Though I was upside-down, in his view, I saw the beret he wore was identical to my own. He was a big bloke, blond and sporting a neatly-trimmed moustache, the hairs of which were very nearly in violation of the grooming standard.

 _Uh-oh, how do I explain this?_

"C'mon, up ya come." The friendly tankie helped me to my feet and brushed me down.

"Aw, thanks…" I wobbled for a second. It had been so fast, the way the S.R.R. Sergeant had floored me.

"I think it's best to be away from 'ere now – 'ang on a moment." Picking up his kitbag, the tankie pulled out a small metallic flask of something and poured the contents over the corpselike body of my assailant. "He-he," he laughed. "Not every day ya get to twat a recce bastard, serves 'em right fer acting like prima-donna's shits. Think we'll leave this beauty where we found 'im. Drunkenness is in direct violation of General Order No.1. So I wonder 'ow long he'll be in the Glasshouse for?" He grinned slyly.

Leaving the 'inebriated' recce bastard, I followed my rescuer, remembering the second, presumably an airborne bastard, was not that far behind. "Oi, uh… Corporal?" I spotted the tankie's stripes. "There's another one after me to."

"Bloody 'ell, there's always another one, in't there? I'm not yer 'ardman, lad. I did that 'cause yer one of us."

 _Yeah but I'm not one of you_ , I wanted to say.

"Speaking o' which, where's yer clobber or yer doss bag?"

"Stolen," I said hurriedly. "On Agripinaa."

"Why'd someone wanna steal yer doss bag?" the tankie screwed one eye shut and regarded me an expression that could only be described as – what the hell?

"Dunno, Corporal."

"Hmm, s'pose something oughta be done about that. 'Ang on, you wait 'ere for a minute."

I watched, bewildered, as the tall tankie cut through several lines of people queuing to board shuttles before moving out of sight.

At a loss and feeling conspicuous standing by myself, I sat on an iron bench partly welded into the bulkhead. Beside me, a forlorn-looking plant that was withering had bent over almost double. It seemed to be dying. A closer inspection revealed how artificial the stem and leaves were.

 _No, the Imperium has long since ceased producing. All it does now is destroy. Destroy, destroy and destroy again._

I ignored the fake plant looking sorry for itself. Bending down to rub my knees, I took several deep breaths to clear my head. I hoped the confusion would throw the other man off the scent and his sleeping partner remain undisturbed until I was safely off the station and down on the ground. The last thing I needed was another alarm to run from. Unlike Agripinaa I was on a space station and would eventually be cornered and caught. There would be no great fall to spirit me away this time.

 _What the hell was I thinking!_ I pressed both thumbs into my temple and covered my face. Rubbing both sides of my head, I thought back to when the madness had held dominion over my mind and body. Thinking about it now, I would _never_ have done something so reckless and self-destructive had I been in a normal situation. It made no sense.

" _Kora. Titus_ ," I murmured. Kora's betrayal had rattled me badly. It didn't seem right that someone who'd taken me in, offered me food, medical aid and safe passage, would want to kill me. Was it to do with Grendel, the business with the Governor's nephew? Was my past catching up to me? It was doubtful the authorities on Agripinaa would go to such lengths to hunt me down because of a mere spy scare in Agrippa. So they weren't behind it. But then who was?

"Oi." A stuffed kitbag dropped at my feet. A complete soldier's kit with doss bag rolled tightly up and fastened across the top. The tankie Corporal stood in front of me with hands on hips.

"Where'd ye get that from, Corporal?" I pulled the musty-smelling olive grey pack onto my lap.

"Ya questionin' a non-commissioned officer?"

"Uhh, no, Corporal." I looked up him apologetically. "Just wonderin' where ye got it, s'all."

"From the Navy," he said shortly.

"The Navy?" I regarded the paper nametag, thrust into the waterproof slot, with dismay. It belonged to a bootneck; hence the similarities with Guard-issue gear.

"Listen. Look at me. It is part of yer duty as an Imperial Guardsman to harass our sister services, y'understand?"

"Yes, Corporal." I nodded.

"Oh, I'll be 'aving that." The Corporal plucked the Dragoon beret from my head. "Make sure ya look us up when ya boots hit the ground… Private." He winked.

My secret was discovered, I realised. The NCO, defying my expectations, took in a good humour. "3 Troop, C Squadron, 'Perial Dragoon Guards." He patted his beret. "You'll recognise us. We're workin' for 51st Cadian Infantry Brigade."

I recalled Nerian 228th was attached to 51st as well. "1 Neria. Same 'ere."

"Good lad. That's you over there." The Corporal pointed across rows of heads to a shortening queue leading into an open accessway connecting a shuttle with the station. "Better be off."

"Thanks, Corporal." I hefted my 'liberated' kitbag and scurried over to the where the last few were being admitted onto the planet-bound shuttle. A quick flash of my I.D. and I was almost galloping down the sloping tunnel.

The shuttle was a mirror-copy of that which I'd travelled on before only this one was packed to bursting. Sidling down the aisle, I tried to ignore the grunts of annoyance as I disturbed men and women who had settled down.

I searched unsuccessfully for a vacant seat. Any one would've done. I took that back instantly when the only empty chair I found was next to a Tech-priest. Easing myself down, I wished fervently that I could shut off my sense of smell temporarily. He, or rather, it, smelt of _something_. It was bad enough to drive away others nearby. I could see those sitting across from me as well as those in front with barely concealed looks of revulsion. Now that others, not just me were put in a state of discomfort, I couldn't help but smile.

My thoughts were flung far away from the buffeting, my fellow passengers and even the stinking Tech-priest, hidden away under his red hood during the descent to the Nemtess' surface.

The blond tankie had made a good impression, I thought. He was the first bloke I'd met out of prison who didn't have some ulterior motive like Oruc Veen or Kora. Just a little bit of human decency was all it had taken to help me out of my predicament. I looked forward to meeting the rest of his crew. If they were of the same good-natured cut as their commander then they'd probably be a good crowd.

Perhaps a beer or two would do the trick. I'd sorely missed a good Guard brew. True it was usually watered-down and poorly made but after a returning from a particularly tense patrol there was no finer beverage to chug down our Guard-issue gullets.

What's more was, being fellow servicemen, they'd have a much better understanding of my nightmares and triggers that brought on visions and, this was perhaps a little too much to hope for but, they'd be able to help me treat it; if such a thing was possible.

I drew a parallel between the tankie and the girl aboard Aegis Fury, the pretty one with fair hair who'd offered me food. It just went to show, there were good, decent people here and there, people that'd lend a hand no matter the cost. The galaxy might have become rotten and weary from eons of war but the people in it, a handful at least, still remembered what it was to be human.

" _Please unfasten your safety harnesses_ ," the canned, mechanical and all too familiar woman's voice returned my mind to the cramped and sweaty transport.

 _Have the air filters broken down?_ It was almost muggy in the wide, metal tube.

Falling into line behind a, much taller, lance-corporal, I saw the pressure door set in the side of the fuselage had remained shut. I bobbed up impatiently on tiptoes. There was a definite height issue in effect. This however protected me from the worst of the bright sunlight, poking in through the widening gap by the bows.

The large boarding ramp, set beneath the cockpit was meant for loading and unloading cargo. Like a giant, metal tongue it opened outwards and downwards before coming to rest.

A sudden draft of wind, nippy and intrusive stole our breath. I felt the warmth around me be sapped away. My bare ears and fingers, unused to chilly temperatures, began to numb.

By the open ramp, a crewman gave thumbs up and motioned us to offload. Following those in front, I kept my hand raised to shield my eyes from the bright light like a blind man who'd been granted his sight after years of darkness. Feeling the biting air grip me in a thoroughly unfriendly embrace, I walked down the ramp and into white.


	9. Chapter 8

Mid-afternoon/M41/01-40.999/Nemesis Tessera Space Dock/Nemesis system/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

"Is it done?"

The woman's voice, coldly mechanical in the 16 Air Assault Sergeant's ear, set his teeth on edge. The words were like three soft-spoken bullets to the brain. The simple question was the hardest thing he'd ever had to answer. Neither the extreme conditioning his body and mind had endured during training, nor the brutal airborne qualification phase, not even the resistance to interrogation – borderline physical and mental torture – frightened him more than these people did. They were everywhere.

 _What do I do?_

His partner he'd discovered bruised and unconscious, lying in a shadowed alcove. The front of his No.2s soaked in alcohol to add to the insult. He had been utterly gobsmacked.

 _How in the bloody Warp had an S.R.R. veteran been taken down so easily?_

He had seen the target, albeit from a distance and had taken the boyish-faced youth to be NIG – new in green – and far below the calibre of both airborne and recce qualified personnel. If time and resources were being spent into eliminating this boy then he must've been someone special.

 _Who is he?_ The airborne NCO paced about frenetically, keeping watch over the S.R.R. Sergeant. He'd checked his breathing and was certain he'd come to with nothing more than some lumps and a heavily bruised ego; a _very_ heavily bruised ego. To be beaten up by a regular infantry bod and have the smart No.2s stained with foul-smelling spirits would leave a nasty taste in the man's mouth for a very long time.

 _Assess, evaluate – come on think!_ The non-com rubbed his jaw. It was several days late for a shave. _Not my job. Not my responsibility. I'm just the muscle._ The word 'disposable' floated ominously in front of him.

A crackle in his earpiece announced his deadline. It was the woman. "Is it done?" She asked.

Keeping his earpiece covered, the Sergeant put a hand over his eyes and sighed. Then, taking a breath, he said, "negative."

The pause almost killed him. In the end it didn't matter. He already knew how this mission was going to end.

"Remain on this station and await further instructions," the woman said. A rustle followed by a crunch terminated the connection.

The Sergeant toyed with the idea of departing the station and returning to his unit. Spend his last days of existence with his men. After that they'd come for him. If he tried to run they'd come for him. Anywhere he went in the Imperium, they'd come for him.

He looked down at his hands, the hands of an unperson. _Mine, my family's too. My father, my mother, my sisters._

What was it? Liquidation, vaporisation, obliteration? What fancy official term did the Imperium have for the wiping process? Said termination that had taken innumerable lives, tearing up families in the name of the Emperor. And shortly it would be his turn.

 _Well, that's that then. We're binned._

Kora's boot heel discreetly stamped the earbud into tiny pieces.

 _Bloody fools,_ Kora thought. _If you want something done right…_

"Why am I being sent on this mission?" The fifteen-year-old, nameless girl asked. "Has a termination order been given?"

Her superior, his sharp, hawkish features partially concealed underneath a wide-brimmed hat, smiled, the effect not quite reaching his eyes which were in shadow. "My dear. We don't send you to kill. We send you because you don't exist."

"I am to exist for this mission though, aren't I?"

"As Kora, yes. You read and memorised the files as instructed. Do you know what your mission is?"

"To expose heresy. To root out and terminate any and all threats to the Imperium with whatever tools I have at my disposal. My target is Rafer Kaukasios."

"Why is he being targeted?"

"It is believed he has had clandestine dealings with those whom we would not consider _civilised_. If what we believe is true then he, his family and any other associates are to be terminated."

The black brim of the hat dipped an inch. "Terminate…" His voice was barely audible as he spoke. "…With extreme prejudice."

A much older Kora had hold of Titus' hand as she guided the child through the crowd.

 _I've done what is required of me. How much longer do they expect me to play mother?_ Her worry was that she had slipped too far into the character and she'd lost focus on her true goal. Though she hadn't meant to, she'd grown fond of Titus, Max too. She'd seen more of him than she had his father. And it was _him_ , not Max, whom she was supposed to be scrutinising. Becoming Max's mistress hadn't been a part of the plan though it had worked somewhat in her favour. Had they not become lovers she would've been dismissed years ago and would've had to return to her superiors with nothing to show for all the time she'd been undercover.

Then a new mission, the first one in years passed right by her nose. Without asking for the details she had snapped it up eagerly.

In a high-level meeting between those who were way above her paygrade, the matter of a Xenos incursion on a world named Grendel was discussed.

From what her superior had relayed to her afterwards was that a band of Imperial Guard deserters had joined forces with Eldar and had fought a running battle with other Eldar, Corsairs, not Craftworlders, in the northern hemisphere atop a fleet of vehicles.

That such a large party of mechanised Eldar could just appear out of thin air had upset several people upstairs. This led to an opening of an investigation in which a handful of deserters, recaptured after the battle, were tried and executed for collaboration with the enemy.

That done, the case was closed. Only they worked out at a later date that they'd slipped up somewhere.

Out of the seven deserters, all either enlisted men or non-commissioned officers, six had been sentenced in military prisons before being acquired by the powers operating outside Imperial jurisdiction and henceforth tried accordingly before liquidation. The seventh however had not been sentenced in a prison under military control. He was serving a sentence in an institute belonging to the Governor of Grendel for the crime of murder. It appeared that after being returned to Norn he had been summarily handed over to the planetary government for trial. His name was Arvin James Larn.

On the day of the execution, which had been heavily publicised, two men, both nondescript and easily blending into the crowds, had watched Larn be hanged from the neck until he was dead. They had then used their influence to have a viewing of the body in the morgue.

The corpse, drained of all its blood, was a pale slab of flesh lying on its back underneath a bright spotlight.

The face was surveyed alongside a snapshot of Larn. It was then the two had realised it _wasn't_ Larn lying dead on the slab.

"I think we have a situation on our hands." One told the other.

"How do you want to word it?"

One way or the other, their superiors wouldn't like what they heard.

Kora had heard about the commotion circuiting the channels. The fact that her people had slipped up surprised her. They never made mistakes. They always did what they intended to do.

It wasn't until a young soldier, hurt and alone, had told her his name that she worked out who he was. By then she'd started to pity him, so young and full of life yet carrying wounds that were not visible.

It didn't seem right to her that her people wanted him dead for something that he likely had no control over. But she, like him, was a soldier. And soldiers had to follow their orders.

"Keep the target closeby until you reach your destination. Once you've separated we'll pick him up and you'll proceed with your current mission. Understood?"

"Understood." Kora acknowledged, closing her eyes briefly.

"Kora?" Titus was gazing up at her, wondering why she didn't answer.

"Titus? She smiled down at his round face, full of life, just like Larn's. Both of them were blue-eyed and fair haired. They could've been brothers.

 _I'm sorry, James. It's just a job, it isn't personal._

* * *

The fierce chill in the air stole my breath the moment I left the warm fuselage of the shuttle behind the other passengers and stepped down onto the tarmac. Shielding my face from the dazzling sunlight, I waited for my eyes to readjust to the glare.

"Looks like Simia." Someone said. His words though were drowned out by a pair of low-flying jets.

I ducked instinctively on hearing the roar of the engines. The last time I'd been buzzed by aircraft, I was hanging upside down from an Eldar ship. It had only been Izuru's quick reflexes stopping me from falling headfirst into twin cooling vents, the fans of which would've turned me into little bits of meat red and scraps of olive grey cotton.

The fighters passed by overhead and quickly disappeared behind a huge grey building which housed a truly spectacular-sized orbital cannon. Pointing skywards, the orbital gun's base held dominion over dozens of buildings of similar architecture. The gun was larger than any weapon I'd ever seen before. I couldn't even begin to guess the size of the projectile it fired. Its size was evident when it appeared to be a good half kilometre away, yet it still poked above the tall blocks and flak towers that surrounded the raised platform we were on.

"That weapon is a testimony to the might of the Imperium." Someone, an Emperor-botherer most likely, said.

All I could think about as I followed the crowd across the platform was how cold it was. Bastille hadn't been too cold, not ball-numbingly at least. Platis hadn't. Not even in the northern hemisphere of Grendel had it been _this_ cold.

I felt conscious of my bare head amongst the bobbing berets. I could only watch, jealous, as scarfs and gloves were produced from packs and donned. I had none of that. My orders hadn't forewarned about the climate.

As discreetly as I could, I moved my free hand – the one not holding my kitbag tightly over one shoulder – across to my groin, being a place of warmth, and held it there.

The wintry air – I think it was winter, for all I knew it could've been summer – assaulted my unprepared senses aggressively. By the time we had embarked on a wide lift to take us down to the surface, fifty feet below, my nose and ears numbed from the cold.

No sooner had the crowd of servicemen in front of me stepped off of the lowered platform and onto solid ground when a six-wheeled 'Hunter' scout car charged into view from around a corner.

"Oi, watch it!" The people in front, at first confident the car would give them a wide berth, beat a hasty retreat when the Hunter hurtled past at considerable speed, leaving only feet to spare.

Shouts of anger and dismay were heard when muddy slush was kicked up by the thick tyres, dirtying their otherwise spotless combats as well as their smooth and shaven Guard-issue faces.

I caught a split-second glimpse of a wide grin underneath the driver's polarised visor before the Hunter vanished. Its throaty growl took a bit longer to fade into the distance; such was the loud volume of its engine.

Many many colourful words and phrases were hurled after the reckless driver by the mud-splattered unfortunates, not that it would do any good when they presented themselves to their respective units. I was glad now that I was not the only one who'd get a bollocking for being scruffy and, possibly, out of uniform. My bare head was my greatest concern but it was not entirely unknown for a private soldier to misplace his cover. I'd still be punished but on the plus side, save myself the embarrassment of turning up at my commanding officer's desk wearing an Imperial Dragoon beret in place of the correct infantry cover. For that, I would've been severely punished for wearing a beret and a badge which, by rights, I had not earned. A court martial – one that would actually take place this time – would strip me of whatever dignity I had left and very probably hand me a dishonourable discharge.

Being shitcanned out of the Imperial Armed Forces, though something I'd viewed previously as one way of getting out while I still had my body and mind, I no longer desired. Due to the attention I'd picked up on Grendel, Agripinaa and now, Nemtess, I thought I'd better lay low and try to toe the line. I hoped whoever was after me would lose my scent once I was thrown into the great green machine once more.

After all, the Imperial Guard looked after its own– didn't it?

The cold slush underfoot coated the black leather of my boots, the pair I wore unfortunately not waterproof. Quite soon my toes, even in the, normally sweaty, woollen socks had lost their warmth.

A chill breeze whipped several Imperial banners, flying from very tall antennas poking out from the rooftops, violently about. A rumble of thunder, or guns maybe, was heard in the distance.

I pictured my former platoon commander, Lieutenant Ahern, and the acting battalion commander, Captain Skellen, stating that the Guard looks after their own. That was official policy.

 _We look after our own…_

Captain Doron. Not a second thought was given when they were informed of his murder.

 _We look after our own…_

Art Drow. Swept underneath the carpet and quickly forgotten about, despite me witnessing everything.

 _We look after our own…_

Risto and the countless number of civilians, though not in the service, were just a statistic to be recorded on a blackboard and later filed away. My eye-witness account of his death during the shootings was casually tossed aside before being rewritten.

"Watch it, Mate!" A hand pulled me back in from where I'd wandered out into the middle of the roadway by accident, just out of the path of a four-tonne Hennus truck.

I wanted to slap myself back to my senses although I doubt it would have a particularly positive effect on my colleagues.

 _Come on, get a grip you stupid boy!_

I opted to clench my chest tightly to keep myself from drifting off. Nemtess must've been in a different time zone to Agripinaa, hence the odd fatigue I felt.

Having no clue where we were bound for, I remained with the crowd and hoped that someone else did.

* * *

Twenty minutes and a pair of sodden socks later our party trooped through a low doorway that comfortably allowed eight bodies to walk abreast and into a warmly-lit waiting area with khaki coloured walls. The dazzle from the outside light receded when the wide door lowered behind us. With no one to greet us, we fell out.

Small groups of threes and fours formed. Gloves were pulled off with teeth and scarves unwound from around necks. Thankful for the warmth, I found a corner and dumped my pack on the wet floor before sitting down on it. Vigorously rubbing my hands and face to restore warmth, I looked around the various other red-faced and sore-eyed soldiers and listened to them quietly conversing with one another. Nemtess, so far, felt alien and quite inhospitable. It hadn't made a good initial impression with me. All I wanted now was to find a cushy billet and sleep.

"TEN-SHUN!" A parade-ground bellow cut the chit-chat short. A sergeant, wearing a green woolly-pulley and smartly shined boots, made himself known. He tapped a clipboard in his palm menacingly, is if he intended to clout the nearest person over the head with it.

"All of you, attention. When you hear your company and battalion called out, follow the corresponding NCO, they'll bring you to your company billet." He indicated five corporals – Fullscrews – standing behind him who were in a similarly attired state.

I listened for 1 Neria to be called out. I was 'C' Company and had to wait as I was one of the last to be called.

There were a lot of Cadians present, the Nemesis System being not too far from Cadia so it made sense the majority of arrivals were units being rotated to and from their homeworld for R and R.

The Nerians, it seemed, were a far smaller unit in terms of scale when alongside the renowned 'Shock Troopers'. There were only six going to Cain Company, me included.

"Follow me please." The spit-and-polish Corporal, his clothing starched and uncreased, led us away from the waiting area and through a maze of corridors, all of which were a light khaki in colour. A concerted effort by the Imperial Guard's construction units to brighten their drab and dismal interiors, the first sign I'd seen that not all of the Imperium's bases, dropped by great big landers ready-built, were, every single one, from the exact same template.

"This is where you sleep and eat for now. You'll only be here 'til your battle taxis take you up to the line."

"When will that be, Corporal?" I asked, dumping my pack on a vacant cot. The NIGs were standing around with their thumbs up their arses to the amusement of the one or two bods already barracked.

"Convoy left yesterday so it'll be minimum five days 'fore you get up to the battalion. You're here for a week. Enjoy it." Turning to the five NIGs, he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Go on, Cheggers. Dig out!"

Before leaving, the Corporal pointed a finger at me. "On me, Fella."

Bemused, I pushed past the NIGs, still rooted to the spot and followed the Corporal outside into the corridor.

Placing his hands on his hips, the non-com surveyed me with a pair of seasoned eyes. "I know. You've been on deployment before." I shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, wary of the attentive Fullscrew.

"S'alright, you know what it's about. I want you to square those five Sprogs away iggery. Make sense?"

"Yes, Corporal." I nodded once.

"How many you been on?"

"Deployments? Bastille and Grendel."

"Heard about Grendel. Bloody Alderians slotting a bunch of men, women and kids."

"Yeah… I 'eard 'bout that too." I said, not keen to talk about my time on Grendel.

"Bloke with your experience should be Lance Jack," he said, meaning a lance corporal.

"I was. Got busted for stealing." I lied.

"Tough break. Oi, I'll see what I can do. The Sprogs need a lance jack to set 'em on the straight and narrow." With that, the Corporal spun on his heel and left.

My head began to swim. Heading back into the billet, I saw to my kit. It was a right cake and arse party – the Navy for you!

The Sprogs had shuffled awkwardly in and had found their own bunks, mostly around where I was. Two of them were mincing – doing things without any specific purpose – one was sitting apart from the others and the other two, ones with brain cells, were unpacking their kit.

"Oi, square away," I said to the three idle recruits. "Ye gotta dig out if you wanna get in good with the non-coms." The three looked at me as if I was mad. "Look, I'm not gonna do it. You gotta help yerselves. Corp's not gonna do it. If he finds yer kit jack as ten he'll get a sergeant down here and you'll be on jankers. You won't like that."

"Oi-oi, Cheggers. Thinks he knows the score." A private, somewhat less green than the five I was stuck with, said loudly. He and his mate laughed.

"I was Lance Jack before I got busted, Fella." I strode over to the cocky private and his mate and glared down at them. "Show a little less _fucking_ lip, or you're gonna get a bunch of fives, right?" This show of aggression worked far better than I thought it would. I was surprised when the private seemed to wither under my gaze.

"Alright, Mate," he said quickly, backing down. "Didn't mean no harm."

I returned to my cot and got back into my kitbag.

"Were you really a lance corporal?" one of the replacements asked tentatively.

"Right." I turned to the greenhorn. He looked to be about my age, maybe younger even. He had very dark, almost black hair and a face like smashed spanners – ugly in other words. "Ye gotta learn before ye go up to the line. Don't ask questions. Don't look an NCO or officer in the eye and don't ever volunteer for anything."

My pep talk over, I steadfastly ignored any further questions directed at me. The new boys _had_ to learn by doing things themselves, by making mistakes now so they didn't make them on the line where they'd get me killed.

I'd missed Imperial Guard rations during my stint in prison. The food served was known as the Pink Death which was the same meat the cookhouse put in ratpacks. Disgusting though it was, I'd never tasted anything finer before in my life and eagerly tucked in.

The five Sprogs, annoyingly, had flocked to me as if sensing my confidence. They, not used to the Scran served, turned up their noses at it.

"Eat," I said through a mouthful. "Guard rule. Eat when ye can. Sleep when ye can. Ye dunno when yer gonna get another chance to when yer on the line."

The recruits poked at their food. The ugly one, Spanners, I nicknamed him, began to chew vigorously. "Slow down. Give yerself indigestion."

Spanners, learning slowly, followed my advice. The others, not so much.

* * *

Kit inspection, we learned following dinner, was at 2200. My clobber and other affects, though creased in places, was laid out neatly and apparently to Guard standard as the Sergeant inspecting, after poking and prodding here and there and _very_ closely scrutinising my boots and yaffling spanners – cutlery – moved on without comment. My scuffed boots were the first thing I'd seen to out of my kit. I'd felt buffing them up to standard was high priority and demanded my immediate attention lest I receive the bollocking of my life.

Another critical issue was my lack of cover. I'd just managed to obtain a new beret, replacing the one I'd lost from stores and had been frantically shaping and moulding the crisp and unused cotton to my head before inspection had begun.

Spanners and the others did not get off so lightly. "These Grollies are the worst fucking pair I've ever seen; your kit's proper chippy." He gave his opinion on the pairs of Spanners' underpants he'd laid out. "This is a pile of Ogryn shit."

The Sergeant went onto describe the state of the other four recruits' kit, injecting a multitude of profanity with some phrases I'd never even I'd never heard of. It ended predictably with the five being put on 'jankers' which means, officially, Restriction of Privileges and is designed to instil discipline in lazy or insubordinate soldiers by making them do menial tasks during their own time and hopefully motivate them to not commit minors infractions again in the future.

Spanners and the other four, returning late in the evening, described, to me, being chased around a yard whilst holding rifles above their heads by a particularly vicious sergeant waving a stick, the one-sided exchange between the five privates and the NCO went something like this: "I'm going to stick this pace stick through your ears and ride you all round this parade square like a fucking motorbike!"

It got a laugh out of me. I couldn't remember the last time I laughed out loud at anything.

I turned in that night with the gentle snores of the exhausted recruits in my ears. For a while I stared at the ceiling, thinking. The five NIGs reminded me of myself before everything happened, young and innocent. I'd lost my innocence long ago, the brutal reality of combat responsible tearing whatever illusions I'd had about war away.

I still had my youth. And in many ways I was a still a child. But in others I'd had to grow up fast, cast away the boy and become a man. It was that or perish.

Despite the worry of sleeping in a comfortable bed, my night passed peacefully. The nightmares, ready to flare up at the slightest provocation, remained out of sight in the dark corners of my mind.


	10. Chapter 9

07:26/M41/01-40.999/Camp Macharius/Nemesis Tessera/Nemesis System/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

After the early morning parade, I shook off the five sprogs and headed for breakfast.

The base I was on, Camp Macharius, as it was known, was absolutely huge and I mean _huge_. It stretched countless square kilometres in all directions. As well as a base for ground units, the Navy used it as well, being home to several different task forces. I had yet to see it but there were two runways, one of which was a whopping 3000 metres long and the other, an even longer 3500 metres long separated the Guard and Navy halves of the base. There were a very large number of hangers, several control towers, numerous support buildings and hundreds, if not thousands, of housing and barracks area. Surrounding Macharius, or 'Mackie' as it was nicknamed, was a fifty foot high bastion wall. Set in it were 'murder holes' – small spaces housing .50 calibre stubbers or the, more expensive but more effective, .75 calibre bolters. And there were hundreds of them. It truly seemed like an impenetrable fortress.

The mess was seedy, everyone else still preparing for the day ahead. Whilst tucking into sausages and bacon I felt a shadow fall across me. The corporal from yesterday tossed a pair of lance corporal stripes next to my plate. "Morning, Corporal," I said, mouth full.

"Your job's to take care of those five sprogs."

"Yes, Corporal."

"You'll stay in the enlisted men's billet for now. When you come back off the line you'll be moved to the non-com's."

"Why, Corporal?" I nodded down at the pair of single stripes.

"Never you mind. Are you familiar with the LAR?"

"Yes, Corporal." I nodded. The LAR was the standard-issue Imperial battle rifle alongside the lasgun. However, despite being a fair shot with the LAR, I'd never officially qualified with it on a range.

"At zero eight-hundred you're going to take the five sprogs over to the range and put them through the familiarisation process."

"Yes, Corporal. I'll get it done."

"If they've got other duties they'll have to complete them first."

"Yes, Corporal."

"Keep 'em on the straight and narrow." The fullscrew left the rankers mess, passing Spanners and the other four on his way out.

I was grateful for my reinstated rank but irritated by the five sprogs who, predictably, lined up to be served breakfast and then flocked to me.

"Are those…?" Spanners stared at the clean white stripes beside me.

"Listen to what I say and do it. If ye don't, I'm gonna get the bollocking for it; understand?"

"Yes, Corporal." Spanners quickly acknowledged my authority over him and the others. "They had us peeling spuds before parade. We don't wanna do it again."

"Then listen to me, listen to the corporal an' you'll be alright." I finished my mouthful and pointed at Spanners. "Your name's Spanners. Yer face looks like smashed spanners so it'll stick."

Spanners opened his mouth. I cut in quickly before he could protest. "Don't argue 'bout it."

"But…" one of the other recruits, a lad with reddish-brown hair and a lazy eye began.

"No." I said, gesturing at him with a spoon. "If ye can't learn 'ow to shut up ye just gonna get put on more fizzers."

"We've got square-bashing before afternoon parade." The sprog sitting opposite me, dark-haired with very thick, downturned lips, said glumly.

"Only got yerselves to blame." I finished my last mouthful and set my yaffling spanners on the plate. "Lippy," I added, giving the sprog with wide lips his name. "Dunno what they taught ye in basic."

"We never finished it." A good-looking lad my age said. His skin, in contrast to the spotty, freckly faces of the others was pale and unblemished.

"Wha' ye mean?" I frowned, suddenly attentive. "Why didn't ye finish ye training?"

"Nereus fell before we could complete our training."

"They overran the planet in two weeks," Lippy said.

"Who?"

"Legions of traitors descended on our homeworld and tore it asunder." The handsome one described in an oddly poetic manner.

"Oh are ye a poet now?" I asked, unimpressed. "Right, yer name's Poet – or Scholar! Yeah, Scholar." I decided to name him after a nickname given to a Vardan I'd shared a hole with on Bastille. I hoped, in doing so, he'd survive any future engagements.

The other two sprogs, both near-identical, had so far been silent.

"Twins?" I guessed.

"Yes, Corporal." One of them mumbled.

"I'm Antti, that's Erkki. Makala's our name." The twin named Antti said.

"Right, I'll use yer first names. Surnames'll only confuse."

I wished they hadn't told me their real names Now I'd remember the Makala brothers when they died, which they would in all probability. They weren't just two more sprogs.

"Alright, get whatever you've gotta do done fast then meet me out on the range."

"Which one?" Lippy dropped a badly aimed mouthful off egg and beans back onto the plate after missing his mouth.

"Gotta find that out." I returned my clean plate back to the kitchen and left the mess hall.

It seemed my attempts to shirk responsibility had had the opposite effect. As a lance jack I now had responsibility over five half-trained NIGs, not what I wanted.

Stepping under the sliding door out into the open air, I turned my collar up and tried to push my head further down my neck. A bitter frost had hardened the ground into something more akin to ferrocrete. The muddy puddles I'd trudged through yesterday had completely frozen over. The day's traffic hadn't thawed them out yet. Icicles, the first I'd ever seen, thin and sharp, hung down from overhangs. By late morning this would all be thawed.

A Wolf – a light utility vehicle – slammed on its brakes. "PRIVATE!"

I turned and saw a spit-and-polish captain pounce out of the Wolf. I recognised the overdressed officer as he marched up to face me.

 _Max Kaukasios._

"Sir," I said evenly, thinking, _oh shit_.

"Private, don't you know how to execute a hand salute?"

"Yes, _sir_." I saluted. I held the salute until the rodney snapped his hand to his starched beret. I held the salute for an extra couple of seconds, exaggerating it, before cutting away sharply. We were not supposed to salute officers in a forward area but I wasn't sure whether or not this applied.

"Private… Tillot, yes? Don't you know how to stand at attention?" He recognised me too.

I wished fervently then that a rogue mortar or possibly a stray round would spark something off. In battles there were no police, only people who wanted to shoot you. In battles there were no uptight officers or rear echelon mother fuckers – REMFs. They tried to kill you on the inside. They left your body intact because the muscles were all they wanted from you anyway.

I stood to attention. "Sorry, sir. My name is Larn. I'm lance corporal." I showed him my pair of stripes.

Kaukasios smirked, his granite jaw twitching. I was sure that the Guard must've had a strict examination at the Schola designed to eliminate all officer candidates who lacked the granite jaw.

"I never forget a face." He loomed over me, still wearing a superior smile.

 _He loves his job, the bastard_. I kept my face impassive, imagining the arrogant expression wiped off by a bullet or mortar shell.

"'C' Company, yes?"

"Yes, sir."

"I shall be keeping a watchful eye on you then… Lance Corporal," Kaukasios said, still wearing that horrid grin. He executed a flawless Short Pause, a favourite technique of leaders of men, designed to inflict its victim with fatal insecurity. Having no desire to damage the captain's self-confidence, I responded with my best Phase 1 recruit rendition of I-am-only-an-enlisted-person-I-try-to-be-humble.

"Lance Corporal…" the captain continued to breathe all over me. His smile was cold. His skin was too white. His breath smelt of mint. Imperial Guard officers were and still are, not allowed to have bad breath, body odour, acne pimples or holes in their underwear. Imperial Guard officers are not allowed to have anything that has not been issued to them.

"Lance Corporal…" He liked that word.

"Sir, I—"

"LANCE CORPORAL!"

"SIR!"

"WIPE THAT SMILE OFF YOUR FACE!"

"YES, SIR!"

Kaukasios moved around me. "Do you call yourself an Imperial Guardsman?"

"Well…"

"WHAT?"

Crossed fingers, Emperor's-X. "Yes, sir."

"Now seriously, son…" The Captain began an excellent fatherly approach. "Don't you love the Imperium, son?"

"Well..."

"Do you believe that the Imperium should allow the vile hordes of darkness to invade our worlds just because they used to live there?" Captain Kaukasios was struggling to retain his composure, I saw. "Do you?"

My feet were going to sleep. "No, _sir_. We should bomb them back to the Age of Strife."

"LANCE CORPORAL!"

"YES, SIR!"

"WIPE THAT SMILE OFF YOUR FACE!"

"YES, SIR!"

"Someday, Lance Corporal, when you're a little older, you'll realise how naïve—"

As he said 'naïve', Kaukasios took a step back and, failing to spot a small patch of ice, slipped over onto his side, decorating the side of his trousers and barrack dress with Guard-issue mud. As he pulled himself to his feet, he suddenly found his wristwatch very interesting.

I saluted. The muddied captain returned it. "I… uh… I've got not more time to waste on this unprofitable encounter… and get a haircut!"

I grinned. His eyes fell.

Both salutes cut away nicely.

"Good day, Lance Corporal." Kaukasios said. Then, armoured in the dignity awarded to him by the Imperium, the captain marched back to his Wolf, clambered in and drove away.

Still grinning, I turned away. "Twat."

I would throw as many salutes as I could his way up on the line where, hopefully, it would be his head getting blown off instead of mine.

* * *

"Good morning, Captain, sir. Someone to see you." Sergeant Turi, Kaukasios' and several other officers in the battalion's, batman, greeted Captain Kaukasios on his return from breakfast.

"Good morning, Sergeant Turi." Kaukasios nodded pleasantly. "Did the officer give his name?"

"Ah, begging your pardon, sir. The visitor is a woman."

"A woman?" Kaukasios frowned. "Did you show her into my quarters?"

"Yes, sir. She's waiting."

"Very well, thank you, Sergeant." Kaukasios followed the orderly through the neatly scrubbed and polished corridors of the officers' quarters to his chambers. "Dismissed."

"Sir." Turi saluted. Kaukasios returned it, allowing the NCO to take his leave.

The captain's quarters were, due to his wealth, spacious and well furnished with plenty of non-regulation items he'd brought with him. A few payoffs here and there had ensured the right people looked the other way, allowing him to do, basically, what he wanted. Some people would do anything to earn just that little bit more. Other people's greed, when taken advantage of, was most useful.

Kaukasios stepped through the door. Seeing a woman wearing a thick travelling cloak standing in the centre of the room turn, he stopped in his tracks.

Kora pulled her thick fur hood back and raised her hands in a shrug as if to say 'well?' She shook her head and smiled. "Hello, Max."

Kaukasios did not return the smile. "I did not send for you," he said coldly.

"Max… Your son is here." Kora pulled back her cloak to reveal Titus hiding.

At Titus appearance, Kaukasios' stoic demeanour fell. Dropping to his knees, he took the boy into his arms as Titus raced over to him. "Titus my boy. Ha-ha." He laughed heartily, lifting him up and hugging him. "And how are you?"

"I'm fine father, thank you for asking." Titus beamed, happy to see his father again.

"And what of Thomaas, my firstborn! Where is he?" Kaukasios asked Kora. "Well, woman?"

"Thomaas' studies kept him from adjourning, I'm afraid."

"He is well though? It has been too long since we last saw one another."

"He is in good health last I saw."

"Excellent, excellent. We must celebrate! I had a fine vintage brought with me from Bellerophon, as yet untouched."

"I look forward to it."

"Now." Kaukasios dinked a finger on Titus' nose. "My duties require me elsewhere but not for a while yet."

Kora left Titus and Max to themselves. It wasn't often father and son played together, the former being away on duty so much. It reminded her of better days before the rift had developed between Max and Thomaas.

 _I've come too far now. Lost myself in this person I'm pretending to be. I want this family to live._

Max had changed. The warmth in his eyes she'd once loved had vanished. It had been replaced with something cold and unfamiliar.

"I must talk to you about Thomaas." Kora cornered Kaukasios later on in the morning. Titus was in the adjacent room and playing happily with the toys he'd brought along with him giving them some privacy.

"I know what you are about to say…" Kaukasios washed his hands in a small sink and checked his smooth-shaven jaw in a mirror mounted above it. "…I wouldn't have given a damn if he'd simply been diddling three cheap disease-ridden whores behind my back. Another man though…" He tutted. "A gross indecency committed. I honestly thought they were just good friends. If Thomaas cannot father children then he is of no use to this house. I've done what my father expected of me – his son giving him heirs – now I expected my own sons to do the same." Kaukasios took a comb from his breast pocket and, rubbing the fogged-up mirror clear, neatened his slicked-back, oiled hair. "And if Thomaas cannot do it then I am fully prepared to disown him. Titus will have to take his place as eventual head of the house. He _will_ find a suitable girl and get her pregnant. Emperor forbid if it's a girl!" He added.

Kora had leant back against a closet and folded her arms. "I went to Thomaas and I…"

Kaukasios glanced at her from the mirror. "Yes?"

"I begged him to reconcile with you, pleaded over and over. Don't you think having the boy's lover put to death was too far?"

"It was a difficult decision." Kaukasios' eyes fell. "One I'm not sure I made the wrong call on."

Kora sighed and pushed her hair behind her ear. "Thomaas…"

"Thomaas what?"

"Thomaas laid his hands on me. He left no lasting marks, only the ones inside me. I can still feel him inside me, Max." Kora looked across at Max, waiting for his answer. "It's why we came here. Your son is a monster."

"I refuse to believe that." Kaukasios splashed water over his face and wiped it dry with a towel. His unconcerned response was not what Kora had expected.

"I raised him since he was six. I was more of a mother to him than his own mother was. I loved him like I love Titus and you, Max. Don't you think it is wrong for him to treat me in such a way?"

"I can do nothing right now. But you have my word. He will be punished severely on my return to Bellerophon. You may stay on the base for now. You and Titus will be moved to the pad."

"Pad?" Kora said, confused as to what Kaukasios meant.

"The married quarters. The Guard almost speaks in a different language. To civilians it sounds like complete gibberish. I picked up a few words I heard rankers use."

Kaukasios returned to Titus, leaving Kora alone with her thoughts. It was quite clear now something was amiss. Max's mind was elsewhere, his focus on other things. There had been no warmth in the way he had addressed her, nor any affection.

 _What holds your eyes? What draws your attention away from current events?_ Kora wondered, heading over to Max's bedside table. A diary with bits of paper poking out of it was resting on top of the wood.

Glancing over her shoulder to make sure she was alone, Kora picked up the leatherback and flicked idly through the pages.

 _The Star of Terra?_ She recognised a hand sketch of the coveted medal, the highest award for gallantry in the Imperial Armed Forces. The following pages were, at first glance, either letter drafts or entries but on closer inspection were speeches.

 _What is this?_ Kora read, in complete disbelief, dozens of speeches that Max would give after winning the Star of Terra. " _Emperor_ ," she muttered, seeing how he'd written on nothing else. He was obsessed with it going from the drawings of the decoration he'd done on every other entry. The only thing that was not something to do with winning the Star of Terra wasn't an entry at all but a photograph.

The grainy shot was of Max, in full military regalia, standing alongside Titus. Kora's heart wrenched when she saw where the picture had been torn in half. She remembered standing beside Max and Thomaas for the photo before Max had left to return to the Schola and the happiness she'd felt at being included in the family. Now though her and Thomaas had been torn away and thrown in a bin, as if Max now refused to acknowledge them as family members.

Half of her was overcome with emotion, the other half, relieved at being able to continue on with her mission. Kora would be emotional of course, not the girl playing her. Once she returned to Bellerophon she'd arrange for Thomaas to meet with an accident and resume her surveillance of Rafer Kaukasios, though it was not as if she would be completely at a loose end.

She still had orders to find and terminate the soldier James Larn. Now that he'd cottoned onto it more overt measures would have to be taken to deal with him. It would've been no trouble to simply eliminate him aboard the Coriolis had her superiors not forbade her from taking direct action then. Now though more direct measures would need to be employed. It would be difficult but not impossible. Replacing the torn photo, Kora closed the leatherback and set it back down on the tabletop.

* * *

The range rang with the reports of lasgun and rifle. The higher-pitched whine of the Mk. 36 Kantrael was drowned out by the louder cracks of IM LARs. IM standing for Imperial Manufactora, one of, if not the, largest manufacturing industry in the Imperium which produced, as well as firearms, all manner of military and civilian goods.

LAR – Light Automatic Rifle – was, along with the more expensive lasgun the mainstay of the Imperial Military. Aiming my LAR, I lay prone behind a low pile of sandbags and demonstrated the hitting power of the .338 calibre full metal jacketed rounds on a man-sized target 100 yards away to my five charges. I'd quickly reoriented myself with the familiar weapon, taking the time to zero the sights before running through several magazines to warm up. My only major gripe with the LAR was that it had had its comfortable wooden handguard and stock replaced with a black polymer which just felt flimsy in my hands. It may have just been my opinion though.

"Wow, he's good, 'innee good?" Antti Makala watched the rounds pierce the faraway target from a pair of glasses. "All hits." He confirmed my rounds had all landed within the target ring.

"Very good, you've got eyes." The staff sergeant in charge of the range, standing behind where I lay, said sarcastically. "Corporal Larn displays fair marksmanship. Only thing is, you shoot with the wrong hand."

"Yes, Sergeant," I replied, conscious I wasn't setting a very good example for the, presumably, right-handed recruits.

"Did you train with the LAR using your right hand?"

"No, Sergeant. I trained with the Triplex right handed."

"Where'd you get basic?"

"Jumael IV, Sergeant."

"Where?"

"Very long way from here, Sergeant. If you'll excuse me, it's a long bloody story."

"Right." The staffy seemed unimpressed. "Let's see one of you try with your proper hand." He looked to one of the five.

"Alright, Antti, Erkki, whoever?" I removed the empty magazine from my rifle and performed the safety check before retiring.

"I'll give it a go," Antti smiled shyly as he stepped into my place.

"Good lad. Right, load yer magazine son – ten rounds."

"Uh-huh." Antti began to slot the cartridges into the trough.

"That's a, yes Corporal, to you, Private!" The staff sergeant said sharply, glaring at me.

"Oh, yes, Corporal," Antti said quickly.

"Take yer time, Antti." I watched his fingers work the rounds into the magazine. It seemed to act as a trigger.

I was cast back to Broucheroc. My own fingers, blackened from mud, were frantically pressing rounds into a magazine destined for my comrades' weapons. Freight trains roared overhead. Red tracers from stubbers whizzed above us. The air stank of propellant and armpits. Three men, black-faced, red-eyed and ageless, were standing on a firestep above me manning their pieces. A cry to open fire went up making everything go silent. I could see shell casings falling from chambers to pool around my feet in the mud, their number steadily growing. The flashes of the guns before my eyes captivated me. It was a silent storm, a maelstrom of dirt, light and bullets orchestrated by men. Like an automaton, I settled into a steady rhythm of loading empty magazines, ignoring the ongoing firefight occurring on a higher plane of existence. A cadence, some form of it anyway, came back to mind. _Push in and back, in and back, in and back,_ I thought, referring to the method of loading the rounds into the magazines.

" _Corporal?_ " Antti's voice, coming from far away, echoed in my ears. " _Cor-por-al?_ "

I left the grey mud of Broucheroc. Suddenly the sky above me was pink again. I was back at the range. The five recruits were staring at me. Antti was lying in my position, ready to put his rounds downrange.

"As you were," I said, trying to jerk my mind away from the past and back to the present day. Antti gripped the folding charging handle and chambered his weapon. "Ready, Corporal."

"Alright, on commence. Ten rounds at 100 yards. Commence firing."


	11. Chapter 10

08:41/M41/01-40.999/Camp Macharius/Nemesis Tessera/Nemesis System/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

The morning sunshine was beginning to cast its warmth across the base as I walked back from the range. Spanners, Lippy, Scholar and the Makala brothers had had to rush off as they were still on jankers leaving me to police their weapons and ammunition. I'd asked the Staffy, whom I forgot to mention was without both his left leg _and_ left arm, how their chances fared. From my untrained eye, the five seemed to do alright, though 100 yards was nothing spectacular. "Can't say for certain." The joints in the senior NCO's mechanical arm creaked as he gathered up spent brass. "No matter how good y'are on the range you're gonna be shit shooting at moving targets what shoot back. I was once. You were too. Show me your right hand."

"Sarn't?"

"Demonstrate ten rounds with your right hand."

"Yes, Sarn't." With as much reluctance as I dared show the senior NCO, I picked up the rifle that I'd zeroed and quickly loaded ten cartridges into a magazine. I hadn't shot right-handed since basic back home on Jumael. This made me nervous. All my previous confidence had now gone down the drain.

Lying down, I resumed prone posture and loaded my magazine awkwardly. It felt all wrong, what my hands were doing, were my feet were. I was aware of the Staffy's presence behind me. His eyes were glued on the target board 100 yards away.

 _You'd better not cock this up, Boyo_. Stazak's voice at my elbow. _Staffy's gonna put you on a fizzer if you do._

 _Breathe in and hold. Exhale and empty your lungs. Loosen your muscles,_ Izuru whispered softly in my ear. Her voice, unlike Stazak's, was soft and reassuring.

"I know." I muttered.

"Know what?" The Staffy said sharply. He must've had incredibly sharp ears to hear my muttering.

"I know what to do, Sarn't."

"Good, when you're ready."

 _Go away!_ I thought, trying to shut out the voices in my head. I did not need them to interfere at such a time like this.

Gathering the air into my lungs, I inhaled, held and then emptied. Resting my cheek on the flimsy shoulder stock, I lined up the rear aperture with the front sight post and aimed at the distant target then, careful not to jar my aim, I moved my thumb around to the selector lever and set it to semi. Confusingly semi was 'A' which stood for automatic. Fully-automatic or 'repetition' was not a feature on these types of autoguns as the hefty kick of each individual .338 round made sustained automatic fire impossible, unless one didn't mind a broken shoulder and a burnt out barrel.

 _I'm loaded, I'm charged, my safety is off, my mouth is pointed at the target, there is nothing between me and the target. Let me say my piece._

I was one with the weapon. It was an extension of my arm made from steel and polymer.

I squeezed. My rifle spoke silently. I felt the kickback and saw the casing fly out of the chamber. By the time I'd felt the stock punch me in the shoulder, the bullet, travelling at 823 metres per second, had buried itself in the target. Another nine times my rifle whispered, throwing more punches into my right shoulder until it was numb. It was saying, in a way; _you can't handle me!_

On expending my last round, I checked and safetied the rifle.

"Well that was fucking dreadful," said the Staffy once my hearing resumed. "If I were your platoon sergeant, you'd do it again daily until you can shoot as well as you can with your left hand."

"Sorry, Sarn't." I winced, handing the empty LAR over to the Staffy. "Never was any good with my right hand."

"Well, what are like on parade then?"

"Only use my right hand on parade, Sarn't." I smiled sheepishly. "I'd look a right knob if I didn't. Square bashing, drill and parade was all I really did in basic. I got quite good at it."

"No Advanced Infantry Training?"

"No, Sarn't. I learnt on the job – learnt quickly."

"No better way to train, in my book. Live rounds and real enemy."

"Yeah, Sarn't…" I could firmly recollect the nightmarish ordeal in the city of Broucheroc. Now there was another experience I'd never forget.

"That little episode you had just then…" The Staffy's voice had lowered. He had glanced around briefly to check whether there were any others nearby before speaking.

"Sarn't? Uh, I dunno what yer talkin' about." I vainly tried to brush it off as nothing. The Staffy however had seen everything.

"Headaches, nightmares, seeing certain things that act as triggers for flashbacks? Does that make any sense to you?"

"Yeah, Sarn't." I hung my head in shame. Admitting it seemed, to me, cowardly.

"You and every combat veteran who ever lived experience it. I did, a bit at least. It's a funny time we live in. The Guard'd rather not acknowledge the stress its men and women go through daily. It's called shellshock, least unofficially. I wouldn't worry a great deal about it, it's not just you."

"How do I treat it?" I asked, wondering if it was some type of illness I could take medication for.

"You can't cure it. It's not like the flu. You've just got to keep your chin up and soldier on."

"Is that it?" I said, dismayed and none too pleased. "There's nothing I can do?"

"No, Corporal."

 _Well that's just great. Thank you, Sarn't._ I imagined myself saying angrily. Of course saying it aloud would land me in detention very quickly, so instead I resigned myself to a sullen silence.

"One thing. Don't mention it to any officers, commissars, or anyone you don't trust."

"Is it illegal, Sarn't?"

The Staffy continued in an even lower tone, as if he was afraid the walls of the range behind us had ears. "Seven years back, I had a mate, a sergeant, good as they came and one day he just lost it. The strain of combat made him finally snap so they sent him to a hospital. Doctors couldn't find anything wrong with him physically. He was proclaimed mentally unfit to serve in the Guard and carted off to a sanatarium on Sigma Pavonis. There's a combat servitor factory there, a big one. Now is that a coincidence or what?"

"I dunno, Sarn't."

"What they don't tell you is they flush your mind and turn you into one of their drones. _That's_ the Imperium's dirty little secret, one of them anyway."

 _How does he know this?_

I felt a good deal more uneasy now about what went on away from public view in the Imperium. I always thought that they'd had humanity's best interests at heart, the way they preached eradication of anything alien and promoted humans as the dominant species in the galaxy. If what the Staffy said was true, just how little did the Imperium value human life?

Guessing I'd been shaken by what he'd described, the Staffy said gently. "Keep your mates alongside you. If you've been through the shit together you'll be able to share the experience with them. They'll understand it better than others."

"Thank you, Sarn't." I nodded, swallowing. My throat had gone dry. "How'd that happen, Sarn't? F'ye don't mind me askin'." I nodded at the Staffy's mechanical appendages.

"A pressure door caught me unawares. 'Fore I knew it my leg and arm were being squeezed into paste. The pain wasn't the worst thing I tell you. It was the smell. You must've got a whiff of it somewhere."

"Yeah…" I remembered the mass graves on Bastille and the terrible smell they gave off. "Where'd it happen?"

"Some navy cruiser, destroyer – I don't know."

"No safety measures on 'em at all then?

The Staffy let out a bark of laughter. "Hah! This is the Imperium, son. The little lives of the Emperor's servants mean nothing to him. We serve. And sometimes to serve we have to die."

"Yes, Sarn't," I said glumly.

"Three of the five you've got right now will be dead before the end of the month. Can't tell which, it'll be random. No matter how good a shot you are, how tough or well trained, when your number's up, your number's up. There's nothing you can do."

"And me?" I wanted to know whether I'd be the one getting wasted instead of them. It was a stupid, naïve question to ask and one that a buck lance corporal should not have been asking. But I could not resist.

The Staffy regarded me with his seasoned, stone grey eyes. They seemed to see right through me. Such a fierce scrutiny I had not been put under since Izuru and I had parted ways. And like when the half-Eldar had fixed me with those terrifying alien eyes, I felt myself shrink into insignificance.

"You want to be hero, deep down. You think that because you've been through the mill they can't touch you; you're invincible. I thought the same way and look what happened to me." The Staffy removed the leather glove covering his left hand, revealing spindly, robotic fingers which he waggled.

" _No_." I muttered, shaking my head. I wanted to fervently deny that I wished to be a hero, to say it was not true. Was I that transparent? Did the Staffy really see that deep into me? "That's not true."

"That's not true…?"

"That's not true, _Sarn't_." I handed a few LARs I'd scooped up into the Staffy's arms.

"That's good, because we don't need another hero. The only heroes I knew are dead."

"Yes, Sarn't."

"Let an old soldier offer some advice, Corporal. You've commanded men before, yes?"

"Yes, Sarn't."

"You've been in a brass exchange?"

"Yes, Sarn't, only once."

"Taken casualties?"

"One wounded, in the buttocks."

"What was the playing field like?"

"Ten of us, rifles and two .30 cal's, skirmishing towards dug in enemy on rooftops, number unknown. They had rifles and shoulder-fired rockets."

"So they had surprise and height on their side as well as good cover. Not good odds."

"No, Sarn't. We pulled through though. Like I said, one wounded. Got the lads through safely."

"Indeed you did. Fair bit of soldiering, young man."

"Yes, Sarn't. We were motoring."

"Not too shabby, Corporal." The Staffy gave the tiniest nod of approval before returning the rifles and ammunition to the armoury.

I went on a bimble on the way back to the billet. Being an NCO, I was exempt some duties the other ranks were required to take part in. _S_ _ome,_ I stress.

I hunched my shoulders as I walked. My collar was turned up to void off the nippy air, not that it did any real good. I was shouted at by a sergeant major for having my hands in my pockets and only narrowly escaped a fizzer.

 _Should I be wounded and taken off of the frontline, what will happen to me?_ I wondered. Would I stay in the Guard like the Staffy, with his artificial limbs, training new recruits or perhaps retire somewhere with whatever meagre earnings the Guard doled out to me. To be honest neither sounded appealing. I'd never thought about getting wounded enough for my soldiering days to be over, it was always whether or not I'd be killed – Living or dying.

The rattle of steel tracks above a tremendous roar of a tank engine breached the shell I'd entrenched myself in. Not wishing to be squashed, I stepped to one side of the road to allow the armoured vehicle to pass. The beast, a fourteen and a half foot, smoke-belching, 'Leman Russ' stood idling. Its engine was being revved slowly. Was it paranoia on my behalf, or was the driver preparing to run me over? Turning my back on the tank, I began to walk hurriedly away.

 _He's not going to run you over, you stupid boy!_ I seethed. My previous run-ins had left me paranoid of every single stranger I encountered now. I hated I couldn't trust anyone anymore. But the nasty encounter on Agripinaa proved that if something could go wrong, it would go wrong, however slim a chance of it happening.

 _There, you're fear's getting the better of you_. My anxious heartbeat, thudding at a tremendous rate lessened when the tank did not budge. _Get a grip, damn you._ I knew I had problems but not so severe as to truly believe everyone was against me.

A loud bellow from the engine made me leap, quite literally, a foot in the air. Seeing the beast lurch forwards out of the corner of my eye, I began to run, a feat not so easily accomplished by the treacherous ground. "Oh shit!" I could hear the loud rattle from the huge track links on the frozen earth behind me. My fear came back.

Lurching down a side road which, to my fright, the tank did too, I picked up speed. "YOUNG MAN, STAND FIRM." A voice, augmented by a megaphone, shouted out above the noise.

"Huh?" I stopped, turned, tripped and fell onto my side. "Aah!" I raised a hand, believing, idiotically, that it would halt the beast's relentless advance. To my amazement, it did. The Russ halted not ten feet from where I was sprawled.

 _What sort of sadists are they?_ I squinted up at the turret, shielding my eyes from the sunlight. Standing in the commander's cupola was a tankie wearing an olive grey 'bone dome' helmet and brandishing a megaphone. He grinned down at me and waved.

"What?" I picked myself up from the ground and stepped backwards. I suddenly saw a light and recognised the tank commander from the space dock, the one who'd helped me out. "Wha – I…" I shrugged, as if to say, 'well?' The tankie gestured to me. _Come round the back_.

"Okaaay." I moved around the tank's flank, noticing a name painted on the cannon barrel in white paint, _Bomb_. "Bomb?" I muttered. _Just what sort of a tankie names their tank Bomb?_ "Oh blimey." I struggled to clamber aboard the rear deck as it was stacked with crates of ammunition, food, fuel and water. There was even a metal bucket and a chair lashed down amongst the gear. Most oddly was a fluorescent piece of orange cloth laid out clearly on top of the stowage. I couldn't fathom just what that was for.

Black smoke from the twin exhausts made my eyes smart. It took some climbing to get up to the commander but I managed it without falling off. Grinning, he gave me thumbs up and spoke into the mic mounted in his helmet. I cried out and nearly fell backwards when the tank was flung into gear. My hands grabbed ahold of the weapon mount of a .50 calibre stubber to steady myself. Seeing me flailing about like a drunk, the tankie laughed and shouted something that was lost in the din.

"Where are we going?" I asked. It was simply too loud to converse however. The commander, knowing this, simply nodded and smiled.

I was quite surprised how high up we were and by the amount of stuff, I mean _stuff_ , was fastened to the outside of the tank. It made me wonder why it couldn't be stored inside the hull where it would be protected. Arranged around the commander were map marking pens, a parachute flare, a smoke grenade and a .30 calibre stubber with spare ammo cans for his personal use.

To the left of the hatch was another, narrower, hatch. I was caught unawares when it opened and another tankie poked his helmeted head out. How he managed to squeeze his shoulders through that small gap was anyone's guess. It looked like it could barely accommodate my shoulders, let alone a burly tankie. He also managed to bring up two steaming mugs of tea without spilling any of the contents over himself. I guessed it took something of a craftsman's hand to achieve that.

For a quarter of an hour we rolled. It was barely faster than walking pace mind you which, I figured, wasn't any great distance. Our destination was a very large, open, hangar that housed, what to my eye, looked to be an entire battalion of tanks. I counted fifty eight, not including the support vehicles of which there were, among many others, fuel tankers, turretless recovery vehicles and smaller, Infantry Fighting Vehicles.

"Wow." I was awestruck by the number of tanks and even moreso by the amount of activity was going on. Crewmen, hard at work, were around, on top of and even, presumably, inside their mounts. Assisting them were teams of Tech Priests and accompanying Servitors allocated one per vehicle. Up near the concave ceiling were gantries criss-crossing above and below one another, linking operation's centres, offices and barracks with one another; at least that was what I guessed was up there.

Still clinging onto the tank, I watched as the driver slowly backed us into a vacant berth before killing the engine. The absence of the omnipresent roar felt odd now that I'd become almost used to it. In its stead there rose background noise from the sounds of power tools and generators in use about the hangar that created a tremendous racket.

"Dismount." I clearly heard the tankie's order now that the engine was off. "You too," he said to me.

"How's our stowaway then?" another tankie grunted as he pulled himself out of a tiny door in the Russ' flank.

"Bet ye weren't expecting us, huh?" The commander slapped me on the shoulder. "Still, good to see ye again – lance Jack too!" He noticed my stripe.

"Come on, down you pop, son." A helmetless tankie, now wearing a grey Dragoon Guards beret, stuck out a grimy hand to help me down from Bomb.

"Be nice, Ozzi, this man's a lance corporal."

"Whoops, sorry, Corp." The tankie called Ozzi patted me on the back. "I'll remember to offer reverence 'fore ye next time."

"Ye what, Ozzi?" The other two members of the crew, there were four in total, appeared from around the rear of Bomb.

"Lads, I want ye to meet – what's yer name, Corp?" the commander, his blond moustache bristling, asked.

"Larn, James Larn. Alright there?" I greeted the tank crew pleasantly.

"Larn. He's an honorary tankie so be gentle. Ye picked any more fights with S.R.R. lately, Larn?"

I laughed. "Nah, Corporal."

"Any man who goes toe-to-toe with S.R.R. can fight with me any day. I'm Rinek, Otto." Otto Rinek shook my hand firmly. "That's my gunner, Fil Ozymandias, we call him Ozzi." Rinek pointed at a scarred yet handsome man with brown hair and broken teeth in his mid-twenties. "The loader, Gol Gollius, Golli."

"'Right, Corp." Gollius, a dark curly-haired chap with a jagged scar across his forehead, nodded.

"And Teren Runz, Teren, sometimes just T."

"Corp." Teren kept his tone neutral, not knowing what to think of the unblooded lance jack before him. His hair was buzzed short on the sides, leaving greasy, unwashed hair standing on end.

"Our resident Techie's, well we know him as Lugnuts. Say hello, Lugnuts."

Lugnuts, like all Techpriests wore a red robe and had a hood drawn over his head, leaving his face in shadow. His' face' though was not like any human face. Pipes and coils ran from sockets in his skull and over his shoulders to thick metal implants grafted into his skin. I paled when two large servo arms uncurled from where they'd been hidden behind his back and rose up like antenna. Fully extended they were as tall as he was.

"Lugnuts says hello." Rinek interpreted the odd gesture as a token of greeting. "You wouldn't mind taking a look at Bomb, would you?" Lugnuts' arms lowered and he skittered over to the tank.

"Hello, Lugnuts," I said. Lugnuts did not reply.

"And that's our home." Rinek pointed behind him at Bomb.

"Yer 'ome?" I said, perplexed.

"Yeah, c'mon. S'get a fuckin' brew on." Rinek gestured at me to follow the crew to the very back of the berth where stacks of crates had been built up to form an enclosed area. Inside were four foldout chairs and a table. "Bomb's our home. We painted it, parade in it, prepare in it and plan in it. It's our home for weeks, sometimes months when we're on deployment. We're Callsign 32, 3 Troop, C Squadron, 17/21st Imperial Dragoon Guards. Think I already mentioned that to ye."

"Yeah, yeah ye did, Corporal." I watched Ozzi fill a small kettle with water and set it onto boil. "Did ye tell your crew what 'appened up on the space dock?"

"Saw Larn was in a spot o' bother with some S.R.R. bastard. I intervened, gently of course, and settled the dispute."

"Yeah, you said that before, Corp." Golli pulled a cigarette from where he'd stuck it in his ear and lit it. "What's S.R.R. doin' pickin' on some low-cut infantry grunt who's not worth pickin' on anyway?"

"No idea." I lied. I had no wish to explain the long chain of events that had put me on Nemtess.

"What you think of Nemtess then, Larn?" Rinek rubbed his chin.

"Colder than Broucheroc but not as shit."

"Hah! What was so shit about Broucheroc then?"

"Never 'eard of Broucheroc." Golli muttered to Teren.

"Orks there. Bloody Greenskins. Mr. Green we called them. They were some of the finest individuals we ever fought. I 'member one bloke I was with invited an Ork to a party as a guest of honour. It was his birthday you see. He made the Greenskin sleep so we had to be very quiet. We showered him in beer and money and then we chopped his feet off. The – the bloke in our platoon had an entire bag full of Ork feet; he collected them."

The crew of Bomb had given me their full attention. It was only the shrieking of the kettle coming on to boil that broke the spell.

"Interesting story, Corp." Ozzi poured the scalding tea into a row of cups he'd arranged on a clear space in the workshop. "Milk?"

"Uh, yeah, thanks."

"Rinek, wha' 'bout the time where we shot down a Thunderbolt. Tell 'im about that."

"That was a complete trickshot!" Golli shot over his shoulder at his fellow tankie.

"Nah, not at all." Ozzi stirred the cups and brought them over.

"Ozzi's right – cheers." Rinek took a steaming mug from his gunner and sipped it. "We had, this time, a fighter fly – quite stupidly truth be told – low and directly in our line of fire. I talked Ozzi into it and we nailed its wing on the third shot. Pilot probably shit his grollies 'fore he crashed."

"Wow, really? With your cannon?" I accepted a 'wet' from Ozzi. Its heat prompted me to set it down on the table quickly before I scalded myself.

"With our cannon. Ain't that right, Rinek?"

"That's right. Our 125 isn't much of a slouch. Though I think what did it was the Secunda PIP, that's Product Improvement Package to non-tankies. Secunda swapped our smoothbore cannon for a rifled piece. We were lucky, we got one of the last couple of packages they issued before the factory was lost to the enemy."

"So, do you like it?" I asked.

"Like what?"

"Tanking?"

"Best job I ever had." Rinek said without hesitation before raising his mug in toast.

"Best job I ever had." Ozzi, Teren and Golli echoed, raising their mugs in similar fashion.

"There's nothing nicer-sounding than the constant noise of the engine or that deafening crack of the cannon when it's live-firing. Even the silence is good, when it's just the whirring of the voxcaster inside the tank when we're switched off. It's a real team effort, a sense of being in it together and sharing the hardships. I love being inside Bomb."

"When we're advancing together as a squadron you get a sense of invincibility, like you're unstoppable. Best thing in my opinion is getting that confirmed first-round kill beyond the recommended range and when the enemy don't know you're there. Don't be seen, don't be hit."

"What's the constant revving for?" I asked Teren. "Thought ye were gonna run me over back there."

"It's so the engine don't die. If it's in idle too long then it can fail. And the problem is with our engines, they make a loud backfire sometimes when they start up so if we're close to an engagement with the enemy then they're gonna know where we are."

"And since we can't take Nuts and his servos with us on ops then breaking down in the field's a problem. 'Less we get a tow of course." Rinek pulled a scarf from where he'd wrapped it around his neck. I caught a glimpse of a nasty red mark which looked like a bullet wound for a second.

"Aw, yep." Golli had seen me notice. "Here it comes."

"What? I wasn't gonna ask." I shook my head. I'd learnt not to look at other veterans' scars by now.

"You gonna tell him?" Teren looked at Rinek expectantly.

"Alright." Rinek put his empty mug down. "What is more expendable, the tank or the crewman?"

"The tank." I guessed.

"Why?"

"Tank's more expensive to produce, more expensive than training up crew?"

"Correct. Our vehicles are valuable, too valuable to waste on say, recce. Me and Ozzi, we use a motorcycle combination to scout ahead of our troop. Now this was… two years back on uh…" Rinek snapped his fingers twice. "Ozzi?"

"Sarmatia."

"Sarmatia. Now we were ambushed by infantry, chaos regulars – Perfs we call 'em."

"Perfs?"

"Shortened Tech word, perfidus. It means treacherous, faithless; you get the idea. Now they opened fire on us. Hit me in the back and the thigh. I got knocked off of the bike – I was driving – and into a ditch. I ordered Ozzi to go back for the troop and have the commander bring them up to where I was. Now once you'd roared off, I was, well I was on my own, shot and stuck in a ditch. All I had for defence was my sidearm though I figured it wasn't worth putting up a fight. I was approached by an officer who saw my map case I had and figured I was someone of relative importance. By this time we could both hear the tanks coming up. I was – still am, a heavy bloke and the officer must've figured he wouldn't be able to bring up his men into the ditch to take me back with them. I was watching him all the time. He pulled out his pistol and aimed it at my face – he was several feet away. I remember this, clear as day, his finger tightening around the trigger. I dunno what made me do it but at the last moment I turned my head away from him. This saved my life as the bullet, instead of hitting me in the head, went into my neck, which is what you see here."

"Now is he lucky or what?" Golli grinned.

"Got put out of action for nine months."

"Now he's back with a vengeance! Kill a perf for the Emperor eh?" Ozzi laughed.

Our brew-up was interrupted by a corporal poking his head around the corner of the wall of crates. "Corporal Rinek, something just came up."

"Whatcha mean something just came up? We movin' somewhere?" Rinek stood up from his chair.

"Nah, just come on, you gotta listen to this." The Fullscrew beckoned.

Bemused, I followed the crew of Bomb out into the hanger to where a large crowd of tankies and service personnel were gathered around a large vox set. "Oi turn it up," someone said.

A dial was spun, raising the volume. A scratchy voice could now be heard. _"_ — _coming from the plains to the west of Kasr Tyrok. A mass salute was due to be given there in honour of the Volscani Cataphracts, a Brigade from Cadian XII Corps, reputed to be some of the finest fighting men in the Segmentum Obscurus. Civilians reported seeing flashes and hearing explosions coming from the landing fields where Governor Marus Porelska and his retinue were touring the marshalled troops. The gunfire started occurring about – about er, twenty minutes ago. All contact with the Governor has been lost and we have had no further word on his status. Segmentum Command has been put on high alert. All currently-serving Cadian units as well as reserves are being recalled from their posting back to their homeworld."_

"Bugger." Ozzi muttered. The hangar had gone deathly silent. The noise from the power tools and the engines had ceased. A pin dropping would've sounded like a gunshot.

"Could it be an invasion?" Golli whispered to Teren.

"It's an invasion. We knew they'd come, we just didn't know where or when," Rinek said without a doubt.

 _An invasion?_ I could scarcely believe what I was hearing. _Who was invading?_ "Who?" I asked Rinek.

"Perfs and worse."

A loud, parade-ground voice cut through the silence like a whip. "Right, C.O. wants the troop commanders on him soonest for a briefing! Come on, back to work, the lot o' yeh." An RSM pushed into the middle of the crowd and clapped his hands. "MOVE IT!"

I trailed Bomb's crew back to their workshop. The announcement over the net had cut short their good humour, turning the atmosphere melancholy. "You'd better get back to yer billet, Larn." Rinek glanced from his crew to me and stuck out his hand. "Yer a good man. I hope to fight alongside ye someday."

"Likewise, Rinek." I shook his hand. "Maybe we'll go out fer a drink. Few beers. I'll tell ya 'bout the time I went up against Eldar Corsairs."

"Get outta town. You never…" Rinek's face split into a grin.

"I did. Tell ya 'bout it I will. Guardsman's honour." It was my turn to put forth my hand. Rinek accepted it.

"Guardsman's honour."


	12. Chapter 11

09:30/M41/01-40.999/Camp Macharius/Nemesis Tessera/Nemesis System/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

"ALL PERSONNEL REPORT BACK TO THEIR COMPANY AREAS." The order was broadcast over loudspeakers set on every corner all across the base. The announcement over the net of a possible invasion had stirred Camp Macharius into a flurry of activity.

Traffic, both on the ground and in the air, had appeared scarce minutes after I'd left the Dragoons' hangar. The roadways inbetween the buildings and towers of Mackie were rapidly filling up with personnel, vehicles both heavy and light as well as armoured vehicles, all rejoining their parent battalions in readiness for quick embarkation.

The sounds of hundreds of pairs of boots stamping on the hard earth filled my ears. Horns belonging to vehicles driven by impatient rear-echelon types honked above the noise. The rhythmic _whump-whump-whump_ of Ornithopters overhead threatened to shake us all to death from the vibrations of their rotor-blades.

I moved amongst the green, grey and khaki coloured mob, just another tiny cog in the great green machine. Walking alone, I fell in behind a procession of Cadians who'd turned out in full marching order, their destination the troop barges that would ferry them up to troopships waiting in orbit. The webbing-darkening blanco and boot polish the Cadians stunk of took advantage of my over-curious senses and staged an assault on my sinuses. It did not seem possible that a person could carry such a strong smell. It told me a lot about them without actually seeing their performance in combat. What else turned my head were the proper sets of body armour each man wore. From the section leaders to the lowest grunt, every Cadian had a ceramic chestpiece with shoulder plates _and_ a helmet that covered everything but the face. It was a far cry from our durolon flak jackets and steel skid-lids. The bitter jealousy other, less lavishly equipped, units harboured of the Cadians I could readily empathise with.

A smile ghosted my lips as I watched the paradeground formation march away before taking a narrow side-path between two tall buildings that had bright white aquilas' mounted in such a way that both shone brightly in the sun. Fifty feet below, I passed by various propaganda and recruitment posters, the corners of which were curled and peeling away from the wall. Their faded slogans were mostly indecipherable. A few words I caught, duty, honour, loyalty, freedom. It made the Imperial Guard seem like an adventure. Set apart from the others was a slogan – _Women_ _of the Imperial Guard. Every one of_ _you_ _who serves is a_ _slap_ _across Abaddon's face. Tan his hide!_

 _Who's Abaddon? Are there women serving in frontline outfits?_ Questions overran my mental perimeter. I'd never seen any female personnel in combat. Come to think of it I'd never even seen any soldiers of the opposite sex before; none up close anyway.

Shaking my head, I rinsed away those thoughts. The avenue running parallel to the one I'd left was currently hosting a convoy of slow-moving APCs. The vehicles were from a mechanised infantry unit which worked alongside an armoured troop. Together the infantry and tanks were officially designated a team rather than a company. These little snippets of knowledge I had stored in the depths of my mind ever since basic training were, while interesting, completely useless to my infantry, shit-humping, backside.

Shutting my ears to the grinding tracks on the churned-up ground, I dashed inbetween two of the APCs over to the left side of the avenue where the crowds were lighter. Amongst the servicemen were a smattering of 'chogeys.' These were locally employed civilians who were 'recruited', in a fashion, into the Guard mostly because of their invaluable knowledge of the area but moreso that they needed employment if they and their families were to survive. From what I'd seen they nearly always stayed on-base in cushy billets and were of no tactical importance. The Guard, ever fond of their acronyms had come up with an – unofficial – name for them. PONTI, standing for person of no tactical importance; which they were.

Slipping past a techie, I lowered my head when a commissar's red peaked cap, ridiculously tall, bobbed into view. The political officer, like others I'd seen, was incredibly ugly, scarred and looked to have had some strange surgery to the back of his head which made all of his hair fall out. In its place were wires trailing back from sockets that did nothing to lessen the hideous visage. Ugliness aside, the gold-braided uniform with the silly epaulettes looked like something a toy soldier would wear. Though I loathed the uniform more for what it stood for rather than its gaudy appearance. In my eyes it was a symbol of Imperial oppression, the same oppression that was behind the heavy-handed conduct of the Guard on Grendel and its, frankly, disgusting treatment of civilians and anything non-human.

I did not look at the big-cap as he strode by. His hands were clasped behind his flapping cloak and his head was held high. Like with Captain Kaukasios, the Commissar's stance radiated an air of command, designed to intimidate grunt and officer alike. He was full of confidence, secure in his belief of human superiority. I never found it easier to hate a person more.

A chogey, different from the others caught my eye. This one wore a grey hooded cloak and didn't seem to be with anyone, making him or her stand firmly out from the drab colours of the crowd.

 _Kora!_ I recognised the fine fur cloak, far too expensive for just anyone to own. Slowing my brisk pace, I let the gap between us widen before following. _Why expose yourself like this?_ My vision narrowed into a tunnel cone, focusing solely on the grey cloak. Searching around, my gaze sought any possible bodyguards trailing at a discreet distance, any odd individuals concentrating on their surroundings. Like her, they'd look different, wrongly placed in this environment.

After five minutes observation I guessed that Kora was travelling without protection. _Where are you going then?_ I had questions I wanted answered but away from the ears of people like the Commissar. To get Kora alone would be troublesome. There were others too closeby.

"ALL PERSONNEL REPORT BACK TO THEIR COMPANY AREAS." Once more, the canned, mechanical voice made itself known above the noise of conversations, booted feet and engines. I was conscious of the need to be back with my charges and knew fully the consequences of being absent when required. But this was too good an opportunity to pass up.

" _C'mon, c'mon_." I whispered through tightly clenched teeth. If Kora continued to walk amongst the crowd I would have to break off and return to the billet at the double and hope I hadn't missed anything important. " _Move away, damn you_."

Whoever or whatever was watching over me, if such higher powers existed, broke into a smile when Kora suddenly made a left turn down a side route. I almost missed her and nearly had to double back to find the opening. A quick look behind ensured I was not followed down the path. Kora had quickened her pace and was already about halfway between streets. I could see, through a narrow gap between walls, traffic and personnel moving in tight groups. Should she make the next route over my chance would be lost.

Hurrying now, almost at a run, I tried to keep my footfalls as soft as possible though it was not an easy task in my shined, black leather boots due to their creaking whenever I took a step. Certain Kora would hear my advance, I kept to the shadows as best I could. The height of the two bastions prevented sunlight from reaching the ground leaving it in darkness. Misjudging my footing, I made a noise louder than I intended when my boot heel came down on some crumpled paper. It reached Kora's ears evidently when she stopped and turned her head slightly. My heart was doing nineteen to the dozen as I pressed myself against the wall. She was still too far to try and rush. If she saw me she'd sound the alarm or maybe even go for a weapon. I remembered, back on the ship, her hand held behind her back on something at her waist giving me reason to suspect she was walking around armed. If that was the case it would be wisest to disarm and subdue her first if she opted to struggle. I did not want to hurt her though, just question her.

 _Yes, a little closer_. The gap narrowed step by step until I could reach out and brush her cloak with my fingertips. I daren't breathe, fearing the air, visible in the cold, would betray me. Holding my hands outwards, I flicked the edge of Kora's cloak back. My right hand went down to her waist, my left simultaneously gripping her arm. Cold steel in my hand, the butt of an automatic sticking out of her belt. Gripping it awkwardly, I pulled it up and out by the slide and pressed it into the small of her back. My grip around her left arm tightened. A small gasp escaped her mouth. She turned and saw my face. A look of mild concern was swiftly replaced with one of alarm. She looked tired. Her dark eyes had lines underneath them and were now looking fearful.

"Don't make a sound, Kora." I pushed the pistol against her spine. "Y'understand?" Staring at me, she nodded once and let herself be pushed against the wall. "Answer me questions."

"James—," She began before I interrupted harshly.

"My friends call me James. Yer not my friend. Yer a liar and ye want me dead – why?" Kora's eyes flickered down to the short barrelled, compact automatic I held to on her. My finger was off the trigger, something she could see.

"Just a job," she whispered, shaking her head, "I never meant to cause you any pain."

Gritting my teeth in tranquil fury, I sucked air in through them and snarled, "then why'd ye send those two twats after me, eh? _Just a job,_ " I mimicked her voice. "Didn't want to get ye hands dirty."

"I had orders." Kora pursed her lips. "I must obey them. I am a soldier, just like you."

"Yer not a soldier. We're on the same team here, case ye 'aven't noticed. Why are humans killin' other humans? Why are we at war with our own side?"

"You could not possibly understand. This is bigger than you, bigger than me, it eclipses everything. The all-seeing eyes of the…" Kora's voice trailed off as if afraid of speaking it aloud. Her lip quivered. She tried to shrink away from the black muzzle of the pistol I had trained on her.

"Then tell me who you work for." My hand squeezed her arm. "Kora, tell me." I looked at her imploringly.

" _I can't,_ " she hissed, "you must not know. Ignorance is your only protection. If I tell you then…"

"Then what – you'll 'ave to kill me?" My face contorted in a savage grimace. "Yer outta luck, Kora."

"They are everywhere. Do you understand me? They are _everywhere_."

"Who? _Who?_ "

"I cannot speak the name aloud."

"Then tell me why, why do yer people want me dead? Why go to so much trouble of hunting me when ye could've just killed me on the Coriolis?" I pushed her further back into the wall, my hand an unbreakable iron shackle around her arm. My face was up close to hers.

"I was forbidden to take direct action. Titus nearby only furthered complications. I never thought we'd cross paths. It was only after we arrived at the space port that I could have had others employ direct methods." Kora's eyes were flitting about restlessly.

"But why, why me?" Spittle flew from my mouth.

Kora looked at me with what appeared to be a mixture of pity and remorse. "You should've died on Grendel." Tears were brimming in her eyes. "You and the five others working with the Xenos were to be put to death for collaboration. Only you escaped because you were to be hanged by the planetary government, not executed by the Guard. When they saw the body in the morgue, they realised it wasn't you," the words were tumbling out of her mouth,"they put word out that you were a heretic and a traitor and you were to be liquidated…"

White-hot anger flared through me. Grabbing Kora by the shoulder, I slammed her against the wall. "YOU FUCKING PEOPLE!" The sudden violence made Kora cry out. She clenched her teeth and tilted her head back when I pointed the pistol at her. My finger was now wrapped around the trigger. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"I never wanted to hurt you, James. I liked you. Titus liked you…"

"Didn't stop ye from orderin' me killed though, uh? All I've 'ad since Broucheroc is people tryin' to kill me. Everywhere I went I've been blown up, chased, beaten, threatened and shot at. Ye know what they did to me, huh? The Eldar _tortured_ me. They shocked me and made me drink bloody fuel. I can still feel it inside me sometimes; the bitter taste. The blackness, poisoning my insides. Tell me this – tell me this one thing. What sort of people are you who vaporise prisoners of war because they were abused in captivity?"

"Those that would sacrifice millions so that the Imperium endured." Tears were running down Kora's cheeks. She now looked squarely down the barrel of the pistol, her face resigned. "We are all slaves to His will. I am a loyal subject of the Ordo Hereticus. We do what we must do to keep the darkness from consuming us all. I play my part, as do my brothers and sisters."

"Ordo—? W-what's Ordo Hereticus? Tell me!" I had never heard of such an organisation, the words sounded foreign to my ear. "Are you one of Them?"

"Them?" Kora shook her head in dismay.

"Special forces? Are you Guard?"

"No – no we're not Guard. We operate outside Imperial jurisdiction answering only to the High Lords of Terra."

"And ye what– purge dissidents? Is that yer job?"

Kora swallowed and nodded. "Heretics. No one is exempt from their justice."

" _Justice?_ Is killin' me justice? Is what you tell yerself at night, that one less heretic taints the Imperium?" I pressed the muzzle of the pistol into Kora's temple.

"No, please!"

A part of me, the hardened, desperate, bitter soul who'd lost so much wanted to pull the trigger, to gain satisfaction that I'd spat in the Ordo Hereticus' face and lived.

"Please don't do this, James. Please don't do this." Kora's eyes were screwed shut. Her cheeks were wet. What came from her mouth now was nothing more than a hasty babble.

"Yer outta options," I said flatly. My finger tightened around the trigger. Inside the handgun I heard the internal hammer click. Just another ounce of pressure and the striker would fly forwards and ignite the primer in the round.

 _You aren't,_ Stazak said, _w_ _hy don't ye step back an' think about yer own options?_

"No." I stepped away from Kora and clutched both hands against my head. Groaning, I felt the ringing in my right ear return.

 _Ease your storm,_ Izuru whispered, _t_ _his girl has followed her orders. Killing her would not bring your friends back or improve your situation. She is not to blame._

 _Much as I 'ate to agree with the Stickie… she's right, Boyo._

"Please…" I staggered around, needles in my mind pressing, causing me pain. "Don't." Kora was still against the wall, her arms pressed against her sides, watching me with a confused expression. She hadn't a clue what I was doing.

 _Don't do it._

Groaning, I lowered the pistol and looked at in my palm. Underneath the blackened steel, the thin red scar winked up at me, as if it knew something I didn't, as if it knew a really funny joke and couldn't wait to tell it.

Ejecting the magazine, I pushed the ammunition, six rounds, into my other hand and slipped the brass into my pocket. Then, the weapon cleared, I pressed the slide lock from the receiver and broke apart the weapon. The pieces I threw away over a tall, chainlink fence.

I rounded on Kora. "Look at me." She raised her head. "I'm not doin' this fer you. I'm doin' this fer Titus. If you or _any_ of yer people hurt him. I'll find you and I'll kill you all, starting with you."

Kora said nothing. She was frozen in place. I didn't want an answer from her, I just wanted her to listen and understand what would happen if her or her people crossed paths with me again.

Fixing her with a death glare, I turned and walked quickly away, thrusting my hands in my pockets and hunching my shoulders. The wind whistled in my ears, accusing me of cowardice and being weak-kneed. If whatever people Kora worked for were like she described, I would encounter them again and it would be violent.

* * *

"Hullo, Corp." Antti Makala looked up from where he'd been picking black grime out from underneath his fingernails.

"Antti – no Erkki." I realised his nose was intact. The other brother was sitting on the bed opposite.

"I'm Antti, Corp." Antti, who did sport the broken nose of the pair, pointed at himself earnestly.

"Fine." I plonked myself on the side of my bunk.

"Corp, there any women here?" Spanners asked.

"None that'll want to be anywhere near you," Scholar laughed, "not with your face."

Spanners looked hurt by that remark. "Well s'just… I never been with a girl anyway proper."

"Don't worry mate, I haven't neither." Lippy leant over and clapped Spanners on the shoulder.

"What a pair of bollockless little twats you are," Antti sneered, "me and Erkki got some action right before we shipped out."

"Not a bad pussy. Just wish I could've gone _first_." Erkki climbed up onto his bunk and shoved Antti off of his.

"Kick his 'ead in!" Lippy was beside himself with laughter.

"Twat 'im!" Scholar laughed at the helpless Antti, lying in a heap on the floor.

"Enough!" I grabbed the back of Erkki's jacket and, pulling him around to face me, punched my fist into his gut. "Careful!" I cried, "yer gonna fall over otherwise."

Pushing Erkki away, I helped Antti to his feet. "Aw, ow. Sorry 'bout my brother. No manners."

"Bet he ain't fucked anyone either." Erkki threw himself back onto his bed and pointed at me. "Only cunt he ever seen's his mother's"

"Erkki!"

I leant down underneath the bunk and stuck my face in Erkki's. "You wanna throw some hands, Private? 'Cause I can tear these stripes off easy. I'll take ye out round the back of the building and educate ye on manners."

The insolent Erkki said nothing and kept his expression plain.

"Well?"

"Nothin' doin', Corp."

"Shake hands with yer brother – go on, do it."

"Sorry, brother," Erkki put out his outstretched hands and clasped his brother's forearm.

"Nah, s'alright," Antti grinned.

"S'all that?" I noticed the black muck on both siblings' fingernails.

"All of us got it, Corp. They had us polishing a load of old boots," Antti said.

"Spanners, Scholar, Lippy? Show me yer 'ands."

The others presented their hands allowing me to survey their fingernails. "Monging. Absolutely monging." I completed my inspection of my five charges and gave my opinion. "I want y'all to do something 'bout it right now. Go to the washroom and scrub your bloody nails 'til they fall out. If Sarn't or Corporal sees that, you will be doin' more jankers, understand?"

"Corp."

"Corporal."

"Come on." I clapped my hands when none of the five made a move. "Look lively!"

The Privates, chivvied along, hastened to depart the billet. Sighing to myself, I tugged off my combat jacket and beret before falling on to my bed. The new boys were so stupid. They needed to be taught everything.

 _You were no different,_ Stazak said.

 _Their lives are in your hands_. _They are your people, your responsibility. You must protect them,_ Izuru spoke sense, as usual.

"I know," I muttered to myself. It was like there were two sides to me now. Stazak was the more ruthless and hardened while Izuru was sensitive, caring but still pragmatic. Of course it wasn't really them, it was just memories of I'd stored in my head that had moulded into the two personalities. I didn't know why their voices spoke to me. The veteran Guardsman had mentored me and given me confidence while the ranger saved my life many times. I had returned the favour in kind, sealing the debt between us before our parting. It must just have been a strong feeling I had towards the two. A warm camaraderie shared between soldiers not just human I had realised.

"Hup! On your feet, Corporal!" The Corporal strode in and bore down on me.

"Corporal." I sprang to my feet, grabbing my beret and jacket.

"Hoped you weren't pressing sheets there, lad." The Corporal stared me down with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Nah, Corporal, just got back from the range. I was policin' the Privates' mess."

"Where are they now?" He looked around for the five as if expecting them to be hidden underneath their bunks.

"Sent them to scrub underneath their fingernails. They were polishin' boots."

"I see. You did the right thing, lad. If they were caught looking like that on parade they'd all be in detention."

"Yes, Corporal." I wondered what the NCO wanted. He couldn't have sought me out just for idle conversation.

"So, you're wondering what I want. Well…" The Corporal leant closer and said in low tones. "Word is we move up to the line tonight. 1 Neria will not be shipping back with the Cadians to their homeworld."

"Corporal?"

"I want you to take your men over to stores sharpish and sign out full marching kit. Make sure you grab extra underwear, extra socks and windproofs if you can. I'm telling you now because when you receive orders this evening, everyone else will too and everything in stores will be snapped up just like that."

"Why ye tellin' me this, Corporal?"

"You questioning a senior NCO?"

"No, Corporal," I backed down swiftly, "so uh, extra socks, grollies and try and grab the windproofs? What do they look like?"

"Just ask for windproofs. It gets pretty bloody cold up there. You'll want all the layers you can wear."

"Alright, thank you, Corporal."

"Better see to it quick then, Corporal," he said, louder so he was overheard. Then, winking, he turned on his heel and marched out of the billet.

"Lads, all of ye listen." I gathered the Makala brothers, Scholar, Lippy and Spanners around when they returned. Their fingernails were spotless, I noted with satisfaction. "Corporal's lettin' us out to play but we need to get our toys out from the box and make sure no one gets them first; any questions?" Lippy put his hand up. "Lippy, put yer 'and down."

* * *

The announcement went out after dinner that evening that all Cadian units were being shipped back to Cadia due to impending invasion.

Three division's worth of men, 60 000 soldiers in total who were garrisoned in and around Camp Macharius would shortly be rotated home. We, 1 Neria, despite being attached to 51st Cadian Brigade would remain on Nemtess. This was due to the regiment already being committed to the defence of the planet and as such, would prove a logistical nightmare to detach itself from the line, return to camp and embark with the Cadians, not to mention the difficulty of manoeuvring a replacement body of men into the vacant spot left by 1 Neria and the three other infantry battalions in the regiment.

"Say goodbye to warm beds, showers an' hot food lads, 'cause ye won't find any up on the line." I grinned, marching under full pack and rifle beside the five Privates'. "Wha' ye look so gormless for?"

The six of us had beaten the crowd to stores and had been able to acquire the critical extra underwear and socks as well as the gloves and scarves that were standard for cold weather. When asked about the windproofs, the Quartermaster Sergeant had explained, with not a little impatience, how the winter whites had all been issued leaving only the green, brown and khaki camouflaged smocks; yet even those were in drastically short supply. All he had to give was one windproof, much too big for me, which lacked the pair of trousers that went with it. I used that opportunity to pull rank and take the smock for myself. I also took, with the clothing, a Moses Mk. II stub pistol. As a non-commissioned officer I was allowed to carry a sidearm amongst my fighting gear. I was disappointed at not being issued a laspistol but they, surprisingly, were also in short supply and expensive. Yet again the lavishly-equipped Cadians got the las-weapons whilst we had to make do with obsolete weaponry. On a brighter note was the issue of proper hard skid-lids made of ceramic materials. They weren't Cadian standard but it was a step up from the steel pot I was used to. My lifted spirits quickly fell when an Imperial aquila, boldly emblazoned in white paint, stared up at me from the front of the helmet. I couldn't have thought of a better invitation to be shot. So, to break up the shape and cover up the insignia, I hacked up a cloth sack and tucked it into the helmet liner, completely covering the olive grey paint and any markings. Over that, I wrapped a thin camouflage net. Now I was perfectly camouflaged, or as Spanners and the others so tactfully put, walking around with a bush on my head.

Now, beside the lads, I felt warm and comfortable, even under load. It felt excellent to be wearing helmet, flak and carrying rifle once more. The sixty pounds of gear I wore were well adjusted and tight-fitting and everything was zipped or buttoned shut. My flak jacket, the same one as before, was thick, hot and heavy but welcome in the chilly evening air. I'd got a buckshee piece of kit for my LAR, a solid-fitting wooden stock and handguard, just like the old days on Grendel. It now rested against my side, slung over my left shoulder. I was squared away, as the Navy blokes would put. I truly felt the bad experiences were behind me.

"Whassat?" Spanners said suddenly.

"Grounds' shaking." Lippy looked down at the earth below his feet. I too felt the ground trembling.

"A tank." I looked up but I couldn't see anything on the road. The sun was below the man-made, olive grey horizon and everywhere darkness was creeping in. I didn't know why I couldn't see the tank. Nothing sounded as big as a tank, nothing produced that terrible rumble of metal like a tank. It shook my bones. There was nothing, yet all around me was the clamour of rolling iron and the odour of promethium fuel.

Scholar had walked ahead of me and was stepping out into the road. He didn't hear the invisible tank. He did not feel the mechanical earthquake. Seeing him, I ran out to him and shouted, "Scholar!"

Scholar turned around and grinned. And then we both saw it. The tank was a heavy metal beast forged from a cold shadow, a ghost with a substance. The black mechanical phantom came for us, a black beast from the deepest reaches of the Warp. The tall tank commander in his bone-dome helmet stood upright, staring straight ahead and into the beyond, laughing.

Scholar turned around. I shouted at him, "don't move!" Scholar looked at me, panic on his face. I grabbed his shoulder. He pulled away and ran.

The tank bore down on me. I didn't move. It swerved, missing me, and roared past like a big iron dragon. The tank ran over Scholar and crushed him beneath its steel treads. And then it was gone.

Scholar lay on his back in the mud, a crushed animal spilling out its skin. He had been cut in half just below his ammunition belt. His intestines were pink rope all over the ground. His fingers were trying to pull them back in, but it didn't work. His guts were too wet and slippery for him to hold in. He tried to reinsert his spilled guts back into his torso, trying his hardest to keep the mud off of them.

Abruptly he stopped trying to save himself and, instead, just looked at his friends who were standing, frozen and in too much shock to understand what had just happened. Scholar then looked at me with an expression that might've been found on the face of a person that had awoken with a dead rat in their mouth. His eyes were begging me for an explanation. I wanted to cry so much, but I couldn't. "What's his name?" I asked, my throat dry.

" _Jussi_." I heard the word come, not from behind, but from Scholar's mouth. " _My name's Jussi,_ " he said before dying.

Reaching down, I felt around the dead man's neck and pulled out the pair of tags. Pulling them away, I pocketed the metal disks and turned my gaze from the pile of dead flesh. To the others, I barked. "March!"


	13. Chapter 12

22:21/M41/01-40.999/Camp Macharius/Nemesis Tessera/Nemesis System/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

Night had fallen, bringing the temperature down with it. A blackout was now being enforced, leaving the entire base in darkness.

I leant against the side skirt of a Chimera APC, my back to the open rear hatch. A dim red light, cast from tiny bulkhead lamps inside the passenger compartment provided the only illumination for the eleven other men to see. I was vaguely listening to the animated chatter with one ear, the other alert for any indicators that our journey to the line would be stepping off in short stead.

The men were excited to get to grips with the enemy now that he had made his intentions clear, if what I was hearing was solid. They'd all heard the broadcast over the net earlier in the day and were aware of the chaos engulfing Cadia. Since then however there had been no further news which had left us wondering – what was happening at Tyrok? Was it a full-blown invasion? Had Cadia been caught on the back foot and taken without any advance warning?

Obstinately, the voices carrying messages across the net had avoided mentioning either the planet or the Eye of Terror, possibly under orders to keep their lips sealed. But was it for the good or bad?

We had been waiting for the off for two and a half hours, during which the order to start engines had been given, rescinded and then given twice more. Each time the sound of the engines dying away had invoked loud groans and shouts of indignation from the eleven other men whom I shared the tight space with.

It was infuriating not knowing why we hadn't moved at all. It had led to tensions arising. Sharp, bitter insults were traded and several times I'd had to step in and break up fights before they started. I was the ranking NCO aboard the track and, hence, responsible for discipline, however bizarre that sounded. I didn't feel I could handle others who were— very nearly— all older than me.

The responsibilities of a non-commissioned officer were wide, feeling alien and unnatural to me. I was only just beginning to get to grips with exactly what I was supposed to do and how I needed to act. I didn't feel like it was I who was giving the orders and enforcing the discipline. I was performing – playing the part of a character I hadn't read for; using someone else's voice and body.

Images of Jussi, lying with his guts splayed out before him like sausage trails, occupied the forefront of my mind, incessantly flashing before my eyes.

Cooped up inside the metal box amongst the smell of a dozen Guard-issue bodies was starting to turn my stomach. Rising from the uncomfortable bucket seat with numb buttocks, I picked my way around the legs of a private manning the vehicle's Moses .50 Calibre weapon system and did my best to avoid stepping on toes. The low ceiling made even me stoop. I couldn't imagine what it was like for tall blokes.

Making it to the rear hatch, I pressed the release button, letting down the ramp. The warmth was swiftly snatched from the track's interior leaving the compartment at the mercy of the frigid night air.

Behind me, the others grumbled and complained, sitting there wrapped up in their scarves and gloves. But I needed air, however biting it felt on my skin.

Now I stood, leaning against the Chimera's side skirt, my gloved hand in my pocket holding Jussi's ID tags. Pulling the metal disks out, I squinted at them.

Somewhere in the darkness a jet took off. All around was the low rumble of soldiers conversing. Reinforcements for Nerian 228th were, in most cases, impatiently waiting for the jump-off. Since blackout was in effect, no cigarettes were lit.

After about thirty seconds, my eyes adjusted to the absence of light. The printed words revealed Jussi's surname was Rath, his mother was called Elena, his blood type O positive and his number was 28039430. It hadn't crossed my mind to learn the names and details of my men. Staring down at Jussi's tags, I wished I'd done it sooner. It had been so fast. I couldn't do anything to prevent it.

The old, familiar feeling of helplessness gripped me. It'd had me firmly in its grasp when I had watched friends and comrades die on faraway planets – Doron, Drow, Saeros, Risto and now Jussi. I would remember their names until my dying day.

I had almost felt like I was rehabilitated – back in the Guard and there to stay. Before, after Grendel, I had no greater wish than to leave the military and refuse to be ordered about my every waking moment. After settling in with the Nerians however I thought I had found a new home. I was safe – so I thought – clothed, fed and given a roof over my head. I had my old authority back, what little of it there was and a bunch of recruits to police. I was thankful for it in some way because the five sprogs had kept my mind focused on them, rather than wandering away into dark memories I'd rather not revisit. It had almost worked. Then Jussi got killed.

I wanted to cry again, to weep openly for the dead who would be remembered only by me and a scant few. Again I could not. I was too tough.

"Oi, Corporal, can we close the 'atch now? It's bloody freezing." Someone said.

Gripping the tags tightly in my hand, I shoved them back into a pocket. I wanted out more than ever now, to be free of the invisible chains binding my body and will. I knew I had said it before but this time I meant it. I was done with the Imperial Guard. As an entity it was uncaring of the suffering its troops were susceptive to and completely without empathy. If I did not get out soon I would become a tiny name on an endless list – a statistic – and be forever lost.

"Quit yer whining. We'll be off shortly." Reluctantly, I assumed my character once more and climbed back up the ramp.

"Nuts are just 'bout droppin' off." A private who I did not know said.

"How long we gonna wait for, Corp?" Spanners asked. He and, Lippy and the Makala brothers were quiet and more reserved then the others who were fidgety and talkative. I understood how they felt. I felt it too but had grown used to the feeling of losing a friend suddenly and without warning. I'd become hardened, in a way, to the death and violence. As nasty a business as it was, it was our trade, our profession. We were artisans, giving practical lectures to the enemy on the ways of war with rifle, bayonet and bare hands.

"Dunno, Private," I said, staring straight ahead.

"What's the waitin' for?" The atmosphere, I could feel, was once more heating up. If we didn't get rolling soon, I'd have a nasty punch-up on my hands; one I was uncertain of being able to handle.

I'd seen Captain Kaukasios, earlier before the light had faded, further up the column of tracks and Hennus trucks, strutting about in a fur-lined greatcoat beside his Wolf light car. Irritatingly he had, clasped under his arm, a swagger stick that he just loved to point at things with. I entertained myself by imagining that I was shoving the piece of wood up the officer's backside so far that it poked out of his mouth and all he could do was walk around in a ramrod-straight posture with his mouth agape.

 _Bet you're in some way responsible for this, you bastard._

* * *

 _Who in the Warp is responsible for this calamity?_ Kaukasios fumed.

He was sitting in the front seat of his command car with one ear to his earpiece listening to the comm traffic. Beside him, his driver sat still and statue-like as he had been for the past hour and a quarter. The back seats were occupied by the 228th's Regimental Sergeant Major and a commissar.

The RSM, a bald, thickset man in his mid-forties, had the look of a savage cyberhound about him, one that had been chained up and starved for weeks that was itching to be free of its shackles.

The Commissar, Hyram Kazel, was slight and pale-skinned, in his late twenties and a relative newcomer to the regiment, having been transferred from another unit. Knowing the reputation green commissar's had, the young graduate had resolved to keep himself and his orderly as far from the common soldiery as was possible. He had not ever imagined that he would be posted to the frontline, nor be in such close proximity to the 228th's RSM who frightened both him and everyone else in the regiment that wasn't the OC.

Kazel had kept his eyes either examining his red leather boots or out of his window and nowhere near the senior NCO. Kazel's only comfort was that his orderly, Gurd Roat, was accompanying him on deployment. Roat was indispensable. Kazel knew of no finer person to serve with. With Roat he'd been accepted into the Commissariat, with Roat he'd trained, with Roat he'd fought, with Roat he'd…

 _No, not now._ Kazel wiped a gloved hand across his brow. He did not wish for those memories – of the time spent together on Haven – to occupy his thoughts at that moment. _Discipline man – discipline!_ As a new commissar in the 228th Nerian he had to make his presence known and quickly establish his authority over the rank and file. His mission was to oversee the discipline in 1 Neria, something he could not fail at.

Thoughts of Gurd Roat kept intruding no matter how firmly he forced them away. His biggest fear, apart from dying a horrible death, was Roat perishing. Little Gurd was a fragile thing and he was not the sort cut out for life on the frontline. If Roat was torn from Kazel, the effect would break his spirit and shatter his resolve, killing any chance of fame and glory.

 _Emperor almighty, please see him and me through the coming days. I am an agent of your will and will follow your guidance. I beg of you, carry us both to so we may witness the final victory over the heretic, the mutant and the unclean._

"We've been stationary for two and a half hours." The Captain said to no one in particular.

"Yes, sir," said the RSM dully.

"Hold." Kaukasios tossed his swagger stick to his driver and pushed open his door. He walked a few paces before stopping and unbuttoning his greatcoat and the five layers he wore underneath. The driver turned away in disgust at the sight of the Captain relieving himself.

" _Hullo_ , _Niner …"_ The headset squawked.

"Sir, for you, sir." The driver held the headset out to the officer when he returned to the vehicle.

"This is Niner." Kaukasios replied with his callsign. He was being addressed as an individual and was referred to as a number over comms rather than a codeword with phonetics.

" _Hullo, Niner,_ _this is Baseplate Zero Alpha. You are cleared for the off, I say again, you are cleared for the off."_

"Hullo, Baseplate Zero Alpha, Niner copies all." Kaukasios acknowledged. _Finally!_

" _Roger, Niner. Out._ "

"Start the engine and proceed." Kaukasios ordered.

"Yes, sir." The driver donned one of the precious few pairs of night vision goggles available in the regiment's stores and pressed the ignition.

Kaukasios' ears shut out the loud grumble from the cold engine as it turned over several times before coughing into life. He sat back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest. This was it. He would be travelling into deadly danger and would – quite soon – be called upon to prove himself in the eyes of his men and the God-Emperor.

The convoy halted briefly before the concrete blocks in front of and behind the razorwire-covered checkpoint to allow the main gates of the fortress to be opened. The fifty-foot tall pieces of titanium-reinforced steel – majestic and imposing during the day – were lost in the night.

Easing the Wolf around the chokepoints, the driver drove underneath the bastion walls and over a scissor-type bridge that had been laid by an Armoured Vehicle Launched Bridge – AVLB – during the base's construction. Beneath it was a deep and equally wide anti-tank trench that had been lined with spikes to protect from both infantry and armoured assault.

Nemtess was an icy wilderness made up of frozen boulder fields, snowy mountains and steppe-like ice shelves. The few settlements – in the double figures – were situated in the warmest regions around the planet's equator but to an off-worlder it wasn't really warm. The figures were, most often, in single digits, either positive or negative and they stayed that way. The seasons were really only one long winter which rarely thawed. Kaukasios thought of it as an icy hell home only to the hardiest people like the Valhallans. Though their lowborn nature automatically made him derisive of them, he couldn't help but feel a modicum of respect towards the Valhallans. They were grim and tenacious folk, their capacity for violence towards themselves, the enemy and civilians were matched only by their cast-iron stomachs. Indeed, their drinking capacity was legendary.

 _Enough about them._ Kaukasios' thoughts turned to Kora and Titus. The boy was growing big and strong, enough to become the great military leader his father hoped he would become. Kaukasios father Rafer had never had high expectations of his only son. In private he would subtly make it clear that unless Max made something of himself in the Guard or the Navy then he would never be a true Kaukasios. The thought of his family's disappointment made Kaukasios burn with shame.

 _I will have your love and respect, father, by the battle streamers I shall earn on the battlefield. I am a Kaukasios. Our loyalty is honour._ Kaukasios spoke the words emblazoned on his family's crest.

 _Kora, why did you come?_ He asked himself. It was starkly obvious why, though Kora blurting out nonsense about Thomaas laying his hands on her was strange. Either way he would be having a serious discussion with his firstborn upon return to Bellerophon.

He had said his farewells to Kora and Titus before leaving. They were both due to take a shuttle to Haven on the way home and spend a few weeks there. Kaukasios had not said the reason for this aloud. His only real desire was to send Kora as far away from him as possible to keep a scandal from getting out. If it was discovered that Kaukasios was keeping a mistress with him on the base, the ramifications would be immense. He was still a married man officially, though he had long since ceased keeping in touch with his wife, in partly due to her ramblings becoming less and less coherent, straining their correspondence.

He had seen it, the sparkle in Kora's eyes and wished he still felt something for her. They'd been happy for quite a few years but now Kaukasios had only two desires – the Star of Terra and his family's approval. Anyone who stood in his way would suffer.

* * *

"…did a grandslam that night, got the worst tongue-lashing I ever seen – didn't know it was possible for someone to be that ill."

I half-listened to a story recounted by one of the men sitting opposite me to his mates. The rumbling from the engine and the tracks outside had muddled some details but I had some idea of what had gone down.

A grandslam was when an unfortunate Guardsman, having had far too much to drink, defecated, vomited and urinated inside his sleeping bag. That in itself was a disgusting premise yet the story wasn't quite finished there. "Then, next mornin' after he cleaned it all up he found out he got gonorrhoea from the whore he banged. Said he couldn't go back on duty, that he still had a 'run'."

"That's the only kind of discharge you get in the Guard." A grunt dryly remarked.

"So what happened to him?" Antti Makala asked.

"Got his balls blown off next deployment – cured his gonorrhoea though."

"Damn dirty whores. Can never find a clean one anywhere you go."

"Yeah, shame 'bout that. Little blonde cutie, perfect in every way, only she had about half a dozen diseases from other men who'd fucked her."

"Blonde, hmm…" Antti nodded. "Can't go much wrong with that."

"'Cept when she's carrying."

"Oh I use protection."

"Nah not me. I like to live dangerously."

"Living with a dangerous itch, uh?"

"Get you…" a kick was aimed across at Antti. I saw no point in intervening. Girls were a favourite topic amongst grunts. Of course if a grunt saw a lot of action both in and out of bed and got away disease-free then he was hard and well-respected.

"Wha' you think, Corp?" Someone had asked me a question whilst I hadn't been paying attention.

"'Bout what?"

"Blonde, brunette?"

"Red," I said immediately.

A collective 'Ooohh' went around the compartment. I took it as my cue to depart the present company. Standing upright, I made to climb up into the turret next to the gunner. "Hairy?"

"You what?"

"Hairy cunt?"

I stooped low and pointed my finger around at each man. " _You_ are animals."

The laughter was audible even up in the turret, something that I didn't mind. As long as it put their minds at ease then it was alright.

"You shouldn't be up here." The night-sight wearing gunner said to me as I squeezed up beside him.

"Yeah, just need some air, s'all. A furnace down there." I had to speak loudly to make myself heard over the noise. The night air was extremely cool, albeit refreshing. It helped to clear my senses. "So 'ow many times ye get contact out 'ere then?"

"Once, maybe twice each run." The gunner's face was impassive beneath his goggles and cover. He could see me clear as day but I could not see him.

"So ye get at least one contact every run?"

"Yup, they hit us with mortars and small arms then scoot away before we can plaster them with air support."

"Sounds rough."

"S'not too bad. The Perf's never been bold enough to make any serious moves. We've set up a brass exchange."

"Got any confirmed's with that weapon?" I nodded at the big .50 Calibre stubber the gunner was leaning on.

"She's had eighteen young men, all confirmed. Always wondered what a fifty could do to a person. I seen it destroy walls and boulders like they were made o' paper. On personnel it's a real beast. Blows off heads and arms like ripe fruit… beautiful."

I grunted and turned my head away. Something wet flecked me on the neck. I wondered, for a brief moment, whether the gunner had spat on me. "Oi, d'you spit on me?"

I got no reply. I realised his body had gone limp and had slumped against the weapon. "Oi!" I prodded him and cried out when his knees began to collapse. Catching ahold of the gunner, I lowered him into the passenger compartment. "Oi, someone take him!"

As firm hands took the body from me, I stood back up in the turret. Something wet and sticky was coating the turret ring. Touching it, I realised it was blood.

Without any warning the steep hillside to the right of us erupted in small arms fire. White tracers, thin streaks of light, hissed and whizzed around us. "CONTACT RIGHT!" I took hold of the spade grips of the .50 Cal and swung the weapon around to face right. My thumbs found the paddles of the trigger and depressed it.

The rapid thudding, an unfamiliar sound, deafened me instantly. The vibration rattled the bones in my arms and jarred my teeth, threatening to shake them loose. Red tracers, standing out boldly in the night sky, were spat back at the sea of muzzle flashes creating a lightshow that turned night into day.

Up and down the column, the other vehicles' gunners were responding to contact with their fifty's and 20 mm autocannons further fuelling the storm of light.

I felt spent cartridges drop down past my legs to gather up on the floor below. Metal ammunition links were dumped in a cloth bag hanging beneath the weapon that soon filled up to overflow.

I continued to deliver half-inch packages of death to the enemy until my view became obscured by a cloud of steam rising from the stubber's barrel.

 _Stop, you're burning the barrel out!_ My mind shrieked at me. Crouching down, I shouted at the others in a silent bellow.

The replies were snatched from their lips. The noise of battle saying, 'nope, it's my turn to speak, you've got to shut up.'

"Bollocks." I swore, grabbing the stubber and reassuming my counter fire.

The fifty clicked empty after the next few bursts, prompting me to cast about for a spare belt. Like an idiot, I failed to notice the two spare ammo cans set next to the weapon underneath my nose.

Spitting out many choice words that I felt adequately described the current situation, I fed a fresh belt into the fifty's feed tray and snapped the cover down. The cocking handle took several hard tugs to pull to the rear. I then repeated it to ensure there was no misfeed. With the gun back in action, I pressed the trigger, felt the bone-jarring vibration, and went back to raking the hillside.

* * *

Kaukasios sat nearly bent double in his seat. The driver beside him had been peppered with bullets and shattered glass from his window. The Commissar's seat was empty, having been hurriedly vacated when the shooting had started. Only the RSM was unaffected.

Paralysed by shock, Kaukasios refused to budge. _If I stay still enough they won't see me._

"Sir, I'm gonna go back and find a vox. We need air support." The Sergeant Major shouted in the Captain's ear.

Kaukasios didn't even question why his own set couldn't be used. He was too terrified to notice the bullet holes punched in it or acknowledge the SNCO.

Another burst of fire slammed into the side of the Wolf. Kaukasios screamed and toppled out onto the ground. Scrabbling underneath the warm pipes, Kaukasios snatched his helmet from where it had fallen and put it on, not realising it was backwards. A second pair of eyes glinted at him in the darkness. They belonged to the Commissar. Kaukasios wanted to shout at him to find somewhere else to hide as this was his vehicle. He'd never had a high opinion of political officers, believing them self-serving, overzealous and unsuited to fight on the frontlines; this one was no exception.

A brighter flash of light – a flare had been sent up – illuminated the scene. Kaukasios peered out from under his car at the sphere of light hanging there for thirty seconds before it fizzled out.

Dark-clad specks were firing lasguns and automatics from a hillside fifty to eighty yards away. A puff of smoke gave away a missile launcher's position and singled the operator out to the Chimera gunners. As one last gesture of defiance, the operator aimed his weapon at the lead vehicle which happened to be Kaukasios' Wolf before being cut into pieces by the combined .50 Cal and 20 mm barrage.

Still frozen in fear, Kaukasios watched the warhead's uninterrupted flight towards him. At the last moment, it dipped and buried itself in the side of the road, showering Kaukasios with thick clods of dirt.

A pair of boots appeared in front of him. The RSM had returned with a vox. He was indifferent to the contact and stood upright and unconcerned. "Sir?" He held out a headset to Kaukasios.

 _Leave me alone_. Kaukasios tried to wriggle further underneath the Wolf to get away from the RSM.

"Sir, we need to request air support." The RSM shook the headset at him. "We're not playing around here."

Seeing the officer struck with fear, the RSM shook his head and headed off to put the call out himself.

* * *

The prompt arrival of Vendetta 'Frog' gunships raining stubber and HE missiles was a godsend. It appeared, to us, that the Emperor had indeed sent the gunships as I hadn't heard anyone calling for air. Come to think of it, I hadn't heard much of anything during the frantic brass-exchange.

I watched silently as the air plastered the hillside with everything they had. They dug new craters in the slopes, large enough to fill with the corpses of the men we wasted, and pulverised the ice boulders which had hidden them from our searching, hot lead fingers.

I leant, still and unblinking, on the warm receiver of the fifty. The barrel was still smoking. The ammunition, a large part at least, was expended. I wasn't sure whether I'd hit anything or whether my bursts had helped at all. All I knew for certain was; I was alive.

Climbing down into the red-lit carrier, I saw the gunner lying on the floor amongst shell casings. "How is he?" I asked, my words muted and coming from someone else's mouth. "Where's he hit?"

"Took one in the neck." Erkki pointed at the gunner's neck with bloody fingers. A bandage had been wrapped around it but hadn't done much to stem the blood flow.

"He's wasted." Another private said.

I was deaf to the congratulations piled on me. Could it have been me who was the cause of the man's death? I felt in some way responsible, being right next to him when he got it.

I did not want to see the man's face underneath his helmet. He had ceased to be a human being now and was simply a body with arms, legs and a head. I felt myself not caring for him. I couldn't now. He was nothing to me.

The convoy stayed immobile for a short while before resuming the drive. The remaining miles dragged by silently. We did not get another contact for the rest of the journey.


	14. Chapter 13

06:09/M41/01-40.999/Behind the Chaos lines/Nemesis Tessera/Nemesis System/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

Twelve ghosts, moving swiftly and silently, stole through the wastes beyond the Imperial lines. They came from the night in search of the enemy, to sow terror amongst his ranks when sleeping men in foxholes awoke to discover the comrade they shared the space with had had his throat cut. Expert hands guided knives into kidneys, the sharp pain enough to make the victim die almost instantly without shout or struggle.

Their grisly work done, they moved on. Further westwards were the support trenches and mortar emplacements. The enemy liked to randomly bombard the Imperials, the purpose to keep them awake and on edge as if in preparation for an attack.

In the early hours of the morning, the well-trained 82 mm 'Stump Thrower' crews assumed their pieces and began to work, firing off a brisk twenty rounds a minute. During each loud _pop_ from the Stump Throwers, the shadows moved closer.

Sergeant Cojen Scherder, a grey-haired, grizzled veteran. Tilted his head upwards and drew a finger across his throat, signalling to Corporal Krauth Rauer. Knifes and bayonets were drawn in preparation for silencing three lookouts whose silhouettes were visible against the horizon.

Corporal Rauer motioned for Private Vadim and Private Tozar to dispose of the two sentries on the flanks whilst he took the one in the middle. In his hands was a thin leather cord, for quick strangulation. Vadim held a butcher knife. Tozar went barehanded.

As one they assumed their positions behind the backs of the militia and waited for the next loud report.

 _Pop._

Rauer tugged the cord tight around the sentry's neck, grinning as he collapsed. Tozar pulled his into a tight chokehold and stared, steely-eyed, straight ahead, waiting for his victim to asphyxiate. Vadim's sentry turned and stared at him for a beat before Vadim drove his huge knife into the man's chest, quickly clasping a hand over his mouth to stifle any cry.

The noise covered the sound of three bodies being gently lowered to the ground. Rauer, his tags clasped tightly between his teeth, grinned gleefully as he choked the life out of the sentry. Tozar, calm and emotionless, picked up the dead man's weapon, a Lecta trench Autogun, from his body and moved on. Vadim patted his newly-confirmed's cheek.

The sentries disposed of, Scherder's group crawled within hurling distance of the three mortar positions. Large wooden logs, alien and out of place on such a desolate world, surrounded the emplacements, granting cover and concealment to any who lay near it.

Scherder leant against the wood barrier and listened to the low mutter from the crew as they worked their piece. The other men of his platoon were spread out, ready to hurl grenades.

Pulling a concussion grenade from his belt, Scherder nodded at Rauer beside him who signalled to Private Stimm and Antic with the others.

Working the pin free, Scherder let the spool fly off and waited for the fuse to burn. He counted in his head, _One, two, three._ Looking across at Rauer, Scherder raised himself up and dumped his bomb through the gap between the logs and the camouflage netting roof. Rauer did the same.

"GRE—"

Two loud bangs, ripping through the morning air, quickly silenced the warning cry. Scherder and Rauer, pressed against the logs, were pelted with bits of wood and dirt that'd been flung into the air. Standing upright, both unloaded their weapons on automatic into the dugout. The one man not killed by the grenades caught a savage hail of lead in the legs and torso, knocking him onto his backside.

The other mortars had been silenced. Stimm, Antic and the rest of 2 Platoon had dealt with them in uniform fashion. Tactica stuff.

Pulling out his expended magazine, Scherder tossed it onto a bloody corpse before reloading. "Good kill." He muttered, quickly retrieving the few enemy small-arms littered about the weapon pit. "Rauer, go."

"My new weapon." Rauer brandished a Lecta automatic, choosing it over his rifle.

"Get one yourself," Scherder snatched it from his grasp. "We go."

The platoon needed no order to fall back. They did so with practised ease. By now the enemy was being roused and trying to figure out where they were being attacked from.

"Success?" Scherder whispered to Antic on rendezvousing with the rest of the platoon.

"Much," Antic' thick moustache bristled.

"Caught a prisoner." Stimm had, in his grip, a boy of about seventeen. He was helmetless and wore no scarf or greatcoat. He shivered.

"Hurry. Stimm, transmit to Sunray. We're on the way back."

"Right, Scherder." Stimm sent a hasty message back to battalion headquarters, not bothering to encode it.

Scherder wanted to be away from the enemy lines as quickly as possible. Their confusion would not last forever.

Abandoning caution, the platoon assaulted the enemy's forward trenches from behind in the same place they'd ingressed from. They blew through the few soldiers they'd left alive the previous night who'd only just realised their numbers were a lot thinner than they had been when they'd gone to sleep.

Using Stimm as a stepping stone, the platoon clambered over a thick coil of barbed wire and took off into no-mans' land. Scherder stayed until he was the last man over the wire, helping Stimm to cross after he did.

Up ahead, Private Musst fell over suddenly.

"Musst?" Stimm leapt down into the hole his friend had fallen into.

"He's dead. Stray bullet." Scherder pulled the tags from around Musst's neck. "Come. We go."

A rattle of fire from their own lines greeted them. Tracer-fire arcing over the horizon suppressed any searching shots aimed in the platoon's direction. The bombardment had now ceased. Another few short bursts and then everything went quiet. The madness had departed, allowing the dwindling night to regain its composure.

* * *

Dust was shaken from the ceiling of the 1 Neria's command post. The walls trembled. The ground vibrated underfoot.

The gods of war were awakening from their slumber. Silent throughout the night, they began to hurl invisible freight trains across no-mans' land, daring the other to up the ante.

Lieutenant Colonel Gausser, a stocky man in his mid-fifties with greying hair and a neatly-trimmed moustache, straightened a sheaf of papers and blew dust from them as he listened to the artillery – friendly and enemy – trading blows.

Sitting across the table from him was his adjutant, Captain Glowna. Glowna, long-faced and sickly-looking, smoked feverishly, as if afraid that stopping would kill him. Truth be told, the man smoked far too much, though dying from an illness of the lungs was currently the least of his worries.

"This damned planet," Gausser muttered. "Once it was a new adventure. The prospect of seeing the stars and getting to meet new people along the way. Now as well as meeting them, we are killing them."

Glowna took a long drag and exhaled through his nostrils. His uniform, in contrast to the Colonel's, was stained and the staff insignia was torn and faded. A civilian silk scarf was tied around his neck, a blatant flip-off to the dress-code. Equally in violation of the regs was Glowna's hair. By Guard standards it was far too long, extending over his ears and down his brow. Not that he cared.

Three pairs of footfalls preceded new arrivals. Gausser looked up as a commissar and a captain entered the CP followed by the RSM. The Commissar, young and fresh, stayed back with the RSM. The Captain, wearing helmet and greatcoat, strode in confidently as if he owned the place and presented himself smartly to the seated officers.

"Colonel," the Captain saluted and clicked his heels, "Captain Kaukasios, sir."

Gausser rose to his feet. Glowna remained seated, his cigarette sticking out of his mouth.

"I am Gausser. You're welcome," Gausser returned the salute.

"Thank you, sir." Kaukasios removed his gloves and offered a handshake.

Gausser hesitated for a moment before clasping the Captain's hand, "this is my adjutant, Captain Glowna."

"Captain, how are you?" Kaukasios offered his hand to Glowna who blew smoke in his face before shaking.

"Thank you for asking, Captain. I do not find myself in the best health currently – I've got diarrhoea – how are you?" He turned away quickly before Kaukasios could reply.

"You might've met my 2IC back at Camp Macharius, Major Kett?" Gausser inquired.

"No, sir, our paths did not cross, sadly," Kaukasios replied.

"And the new commissar, Kazel is it?" Gausser gestured at Kazel, standing back in the shadows. "Come forwards."

"Yes, Colonel. Hyram Kazel." Kazel removed his cap and nodded pleasantly. Since his position was outside the normal chain of command he was not required to salute the officer.

"He is also a new arrival in the battalion. Won't you join us in a glass of Sacra?"

"Oh, that's very kind of you, sir." Kaukasios removed his greatcoat and helmet before handing them to an aide. "Ah, my respects, Colonel. A vintage '73 Sacra on the furthest corner of the Imperium." Kaukasios sat down and poured the dark red liquid into his glass, "remarkable!"

"Certainly." Gausser offered Commissar Kazel a chair. "Though that bottle of Sacra is no more out of place on this planet than we are ourselves. Our homeworld, Nereus, is many thousands of lightyears away. Most of us have not seen it in five – six years now," Gausser raised his glass, "your health gentlemen."

"I'm not going to drink to my health," Glowna wiped his nose on his sleeve, "it's not worth drinking to. To the final victory perhaps? The eventual triumph over the Xeno, the Heretic and the unclean?"

Kaukasios looked puzzled at that and frowned. The other officers took no notice and downed their drinks. The clink of glass on wood rang through the dugout. Kaukasios took a comb from his breast pocket and pulled it through his oiled hair, "a question, Colonel – if I may?"

"Speak."

"Why does our presence here strike you as so absurd?"

"Just – one moment, Captain. Why did you request a transfer from your previous posting to here of all places? You were sitting on a comfortable desk job far from any of the fighting yet you asked specifically to be posted here."

Kaukasios leant forwards in his chair, a gleam in his eye, "I want to get the Star of Terra," he whispered.

Glowna's face turned sour. He closed his eyes. Kazel paled. Gausser paused for a moment. "Oh, we can give you one of mine," he said blithely, reaching for his breast pocket.

Kaukasios laughed and relaxed, "no, no, I'm just joking. My former commanding officer called me an heroic ass for making such a claim," he laughed again.

"Well then, I withdraw my toast to final victory. To heroic asses everywhere," Glowna finished his second glass.

"To the patient flesh," Gausser muttered, rising from his chair.

"Colonel. I volunteered for this assignment because I felt that a certain man – a man of quality was needed here. It is time to destroy the myth of Chaos invincibility…"

"And just how do we do that?" Gausser said, "day by day they are throwing more men at us and we are receiving fewer replacements."

"Well then, morale must be bolstered. Those who are rebellious must be punished and respect for ranking officers must be instilled. I expect Commissar Kazel to start with the summary executions. It is an excellent method of…"

Glowna sprang to his feet. His face had turned white. He wore a fierce look. With flared nostrils, he regarded the Captain with unveiled contempt and was about to say something biting.

"Thank you, Captain," Gausser raised a hand quickly to calm the situation. "Know this, Captain Kaukasios. The disciplinary proceedings in this battalion are to be initiated by my hand and Commissar Kazel's alone. You overstep."

"Uh, pardon me, sir. I am new to the Nemesis front. However I do not believe the ideals of the Imperial soldier even…"

"The Imperial soldier no longer has any ideals!" Gausser cut in, his voice rising, "he is not fighting for the culture or the purity of the human race, or the stinking government that commands him. Out here he is fighting for his damned life - Bless him!"

"Excuse me, sir," an aide handed a field telephone to Guasser, "Colonel Gausser, Lieutenant Meinerz."

Relieved, somewhat, at having an excuse to shut the Captain up, Gausser took the receiver and placed it to his ear, "this is Sunray speaking."

"This is One-Zero Alpha," Lieutenant Paul Meinerz was practically shouting down the line, the bombardment was so heavy. "Two-Zero Alpha is on his way back."

"What state are they in?"

"The usual," Meinerz replied bluntly. The sound of artillery falling made the line crackle.

"Tell him to come to the CP once they're rested, I want a full report. Oh and Cain Zero Alpha is here, make sure he is filled in on our current situation."

"Yes, sir. One-Zero Alpha out."

"Scherder's on his way back," Gausser returned the handset and sat back down.

"Of course," Glowna coughed as he blew smoke from his mouth.

"Who's this Scherder?" Kaukasios asked.

"Sergeant Scherder's the finest platoon commander in the division. But to you he may be of some concern. His methods are unorthodox yet always produce results, so we look the other way."

"Well, I would very much like to meet this Sergeant Scherder; with your permission, Colonel?" Kaukasios leapt up in fright when an artillery round dropped close enough to rattle the entire dugout and shake more dust from the ceiling.

"Yes, yes, you may go, Captain," Gausser waved him out.

Kaukasios nodded at the Sergeant Major and left the CP.

"Sarn't Major, I understand you had a contact on the way here last night. Were there any casualties?" Gausser beckoned to the SNCO who'd been standing at a respectful distance from the sitting officers.

"One killed, no wounded, sir."

"And how did our new captain acquaint himself in combat?"

"Captain Kaukasios displayed admirable courage during the contact, sir. The Captain personally directed the air support in accordance with the Tactica, allowing the convoy to defeat the ambush and proceed to its destination without further incident."

Gausser grinned inwardly and allowed a ghost of a smile to flit across his features. He knew how the RSM's mind worked. By bestowing praise on Kaukasios, the Sergeant Major's actual opinion of him – unvoiced – was very low indeed; almost as low as his view of commissars.

"Will that be all, sir?" the RSM asked, "I am required back at Regimental Headquarters."

"Yes, Sarn't Major," Gausser thanked and dismissed him. "Well, Captain Glowna. What do you think of our new Captain?"

"I feel he thinks he's here on an important mission. One which involves him achieving spiritual domination in his battalion, thereby symbolising the purity of the great Astra Militarum," Glowna said gloomily.

"Scherder and Kaukasios," Gausser muttered, "if they are the last of us then Emperor help us all…"

* * *

Kaukasios burned with embarrassment for showing fear in front of his commanding officer. He had not meant for his mask to slip but the suddenness of the artillery bombardment had caught him off-guard. Revealing his true colours at this stage would be catastrophic. If he was to win the Star of Terra then he must not be branded a coward.

Stamping down the bare hillside, Kaukasios tugged on his gloves and was about to harshly reprimand a few soldiers who'd dashed past him without so much as a salute when the low moan of incoming rounds drew his attention to the overcast sky above his head.

The moan turned to a whine which grew louder and louder. Flinging himself forwards, Kaukasios staggered past where his luggage – six heavy suitcases – were stacked neatly beside his Wolf and promptly tripped when a terrific crash from behind propelled him onto his face. He landed spread-eagled on a softer patch of muddy ground that had thawed and slid a few feet on his stomach before stopping.

"Good morning, Captain. Welcome to C Company." A slight, dark-haired, officer wearing a windproof jacket stood leaning against an overturned Hennus truck. He regarded Kaukasios with mild amusement.

Picking himself from the mud, Kaukasios stood up straight and attempted to straighten his – once spotless but now mud-stained – tunic. "Lieutenant," he saluted clumsily.

"Meinerz, Captain," the young officer did not return the salute. "I am to show you to your quarters and brief you on our situation. Also, with respect, salutes are not to be initiated in a forward area."

Kaukasios' mud-streaked face reddened,"unacceptable! That is a gross breach of discipline!"

"I must warn you, Captain. If an enemy sniper sees you saluting or receiving a salute, he'll know you're an officer," Meinerz said, "just a word of advice." He shrugged and turned away. An exploding shell nearby made him duck back into cover.

Kaukasios flinched horribly at the sound and pressed himself against the Hennus' frame. "Where's my bunker?"

"Right about a hundred yards down there, in front of the factory, sir." Meinerz pointed at a collection of warehouses in the distance. They occupied a wide-open area that was almost completely flat. What few natural landmasses had been pulverised by shellfire. Everything not dug into the ground had been razed.

"The fac – the manufactorum, Lieutenant!" Kaukasios snapped.

"Yes, sir," Meinerz nodded amicably, "Two Platoon is guarding your post."

"Where are they?"

"Just over there, sir. They're returning from a recce." Meinerz nodded at a small band of scruffy, camouflage-wearing soldiers, unshaven and hauling a slew of non-regulation weaponry, debus from a newly-arrived Chimera.

"Who's in charge?"

"Sergeant Scherder, sir."

A tall, grey haired sergeant, Scherder presumably, approached with a lance corporal and a boy following. Kaukasios stared enviously at the ribbon and award badges on the man's chest. "Interesting. What is so special about him?"

"During an operation on Piscina IV, Scherder saved Colonel Gausser's life. He was the Company Commander at the time. Scherder also saved my life too."

"Most interesting."

Scherder paid no notice of the stranger, simply handed Lieutenant Meinerz a pair of ID tags without a word.

"Sergeant Scherder!" Kaukasios announced himself before Scherder could walk away. The veteran NCO appeared to notice the officer for the first time. Kaukasios noted Scherder's rough appearance. He had removed all badges of rank save his medals. His tunic, in a faded and unwashed state, was buttoned over his flak vest.

"I am Captain Kaukasios, your new commander here." Trying to retain some form of dignity, Kaukasios drew himself up to his full height but was still several inches shorter than Scherder who had to tilt his head down slightly to look at him.

"Sir," Scherder acknowledged the officer with little respect.

"Who's that?" Kaukasios pointed at the moustachioed Lance Corporal and the child.

"Lance Corporal Antic, sir."

"The boy?"

"A prisoner, sir."

"A servant of chaos then, yes? You know as well as I do that no prisoners are to be taken. Get rid of him."

"How, sir?" Scherder growled.

"Shoot him."

"You shoot him, sir."

"I will..." Kaukasios opened a brown leather holster on his hip and drew a short-barrelled officer's laspistol, "on the spot."

Before he could go through with it, more artillery began to fall. Kaukasios ducked again and nearly slipped over. Meinerz and Scherder's reaction was much less spectacular.

"No need, sir… I'll take care of it," Antic shouted, quickly guiding the boy past the frozen officer.

"Are we finished, Captain?" Scherder stared at the officer insolently.

"I want to see you in my bunker. One hour, with your full report."

"Sir."

* * *

"Two Platoon? This Two Platoon?"

I led the group – Antti, Erkki, Lippy and Spanners – inside a dugout. The surrounding trenches were extremely reminiscent of the lines at Broucheroc. A world of barbed wire, wooden boards, firesteps and sandbags, all manned by ageless, filthy, smelly Guardsmen.

"Another day, another trench," I said under my breath. For me it was a familiar experience, the others not so much.

What first greeted me on entering the dugout was a nude woman outlined on the back of a flak jacket. Wearing the OGs was a dark-haired lance corporal sporting a doozy of a moustache.

"This Two Platoon?" I repeated.

"Yeah and we're selling it cheap today. Want to buy it?" The Corporal grinned at me over his shoulder.

"Hunh," I grunted in amusement. The others were looking bewildered. "C'mon, lads," I led my charges past the moustache.

The dugout was roomy enough to stand up without fear of banging one's head. Taking up most of the space were double bunks set against the walls which were supported by thick wooden beams. Occupying the space were the men of 2 Platoon. Nearly all of them were in their mid-twenties or older.

"Come see what our replacements look like." A dirty, unshaven, stinking corporal wearing an enemy jacket leered at us from his bunk. His lips drew back, displaying rows of hideous, rotting teeth.

"They're sending us babies now?" Lippy was rounded on by a curly-haired, blond private. "Hullo, Child."

The other veterans regarded the four wetnoses with cool stares. A grey-haired, gaunt-faced man in shirtsleeves addressed me from his bunk, set apart from the others in a corner. "What's your name, Corporal?"

"James Larn, Sarn't."

"How long have you been in uniform, Larn?"

"Nine months, Sarn't."

"Tours?"

"Bastille and Grendel."

"What outfit?"

"902 Vardan. Alderian Light Infantry."

"And them?"

"They're new fish, Sarn't."

"New fish? Interesting. I am Scherder. You'll take your orders from me." The Sergeant sat upright in his bunk and pointed at the filthy corporal, "go with Corporal Rauer there, the foul-smelling one. Plenty of spare bunks around."

Corporal Rauer was even filthier than the Vardans had been. I could _see_ the lice on his clothes. I wondered whether he even knew what a shower was. The others weren't much better. Their wool uniforms, once of a fine cut, were tattered and had been patched up many times. Countless runs through the wash had faded the bright green-grey to a, much duller, drab colour that blended with the infantry web gear.

Lying about was a slew of non-regulation weaponry – autoguns and .30 Calibre stubbers – either buckshee or scrounged from the enemy. Something that would get a commissar quickly revved-up if one ever discovered the state of the unit. They looked like a bunch of heavily-armed gangers.

"Oh!" Antti leapt back up from the bunk he'd settled on as if hit by an electric shock.

"What?" his brother laughed, "got bitten?"

"Nah, it's a…" Antti threw back the cover, "rat! Bloody vermin." He tried to pick the rodent up by the tail and toss it away, "go on, get outta here."

"Leave 'em be!" A blond-haired private wearing steel-rimmed, Guard-issue glasses shouted. His nose was crushed and the tops of his ears were curled over. "These are Chaos Militia field Guardsmen. Hardcore grunts." He picked up a fat rat and kissed it. "They deserve respect more than they deserve the boot."

There was a general titter from the veterans who laughed at the New Fish' confusion. I linked my hands together behind my head and leant back on to the pillow. I grinned.

The artillery duel dragged on throughout the day. The constant thud of 132 mm shells from the Earthshaker batteries soon faded; shut out by our minds. We quickly became used to it – by we, I mean I. If anything Lippy and Erkki's reaction to it was more annoying than the sporadic tremors our dugout was beset by.

Being a – somewhat – buck lance corporal, the platoon accepted me quite readily. The four replacements they quietly ignored.

The platoon commander, Sergeant Scherder, was something of a myth. He had more TI – time in – than any man in the brigade and had been promoted nearly as many times as he'd been demoted. His impressive collection of decorations was nearly as impressive as his disciplinary record. Were he not such a force on the battlefield he would've been shot years ago.

Scherder's medals included three Wounded Lions, two Tank Destruction badges, the Infantry assault Badge, the Close Combat Bar in gold – possibly bronze as the colour was faded –, the Order of Pius and, unbelievably, the Star of Terra. The Star was the highest award for valour a man could earn in his lifetime. It seemed that Scherder was more than just a myth, he was a legend. Were I a pious man, I might've fallen at his feet and grovelled.

Scherder's platoon was almost a dozen strong, sixteen now that we were with them. Corporal Rauer – the dirty one – commanded Cain Fireteam, callsign Two-One Cain. Under him were Private Vadim, Stimm, Tozar and Slavin. Lance Corporal Antic, the friendly one with the moustache, led Echo Fireteam, callsign Two-One Echo. The four men he commanded were Private Hasst, Axel, Thyssyn and Freer. I was given the job of Delta Fireteam and would command the replacements in combat. My callsign was Two-One Delta.

* * *

The boredom became unbearable sometime after we'd had tinned compo sausages for lunch. Tozar, the one wearing a leather band around his head to keep his hair out his eyes, suggested that we killed time by wasting our furry little friends.

"Rat race," Rauer said. He hopped off his bunk and into a corner. He broke up a stale biscuit. In the corner, six inches off of the floor, a piece of ammo crate had been nailed to form a triangular pocket. There was a little hole in the charred board. Tozar put the biscuit fragments under the board then extinguished the gas lamp next to his bunk. The other lights were doused, leaving the dugout in darkness.

I understood what was going on, of course the replacements didn't. Drawing my bayonet from its sheathe, I waited.

We all waited in ambush. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. The only sound was the dropping of rounds in the outside world. Then the rats came out. They skittered along the rafters, clambered through the logs and dropped down onto the floor, making little thumps, moving through the darkness without fear.

Tozar waited until the skittering converged in the corner. Then he jumped off his bunk and lit his lamp.

With the exception of my fireteam we were all on our feet in the same second, forming a semi-circle across the corner. Through the storm of bayonets, knives and boots, few of the vermin managed to escape. Tozar took a can of lighter fluid from his pack and squirted it into the hole.

Rauer struck a match, "fire in the hole!" He pitched the burning match into the corner.

The board _foomped_ into flame.

Rats exploded out from beneath the board like shrapnel from a rodent grenade. They were on fire, zinging across the floor, running under bunks, over gear, around in circles, running faster and faster in no particular direction except towards someplace where there was no fire.

The dugout fell to the sound of screaming men, stabbing, bludgeoning and chopping rats apart. I let the wild animal inside take over. My bayonet and I joined in.

Delta Fireteam didn't know what to do.

And suddenly as it began, the battle was over. We had won an important tactical victory over the vermin. They had been Chaos sympathisers hence they deserved a painful death. We got six big ones, all confirmed.

Above the laughter and the sounds of panting, Sergeant Scherder – having refrained from the moment of madness – spoke to the replacements for the first time. "Get yourselves settled. Next time the rats will have guns."

Later when the artillery had ceased, we gathered up the charred rats and journeyed out of the dugout to hold a funeral. My fireteam, a mixture of uncertainty, fear and curiosity on their white faces, watched as we buried the rats with full military honours – we scooped out a shallow grave and dumped them in.

The terrible falling of shells… _Incoming_.

"Shit," someone said as we scattered for cover.

Three rounds fell in quick succession. BANG, BANG, BANG. They had us zeroed. The Militia didn't like us holding funerals in the open.

"Who's hit?" a voice cried when the air cleared.

"Slavin!"

"You alright, Slavin?"

"No, Slavin's hit."

I picked myself up from the frost-covered earth. Thirty feet away, a body lay beside the rat grave. It had been torn to pieces. Slavin's guts, there were a lot of them, were splayed out across the ground.

"Slavin's wasted."

"Underhand bastards."

"Well he had a lot o' guts."

Back inside the shelter of the dugout, I slumped back down on my bunk. Across from me, Lippy was sitting upright in his bunk. He was staring at something in his hand.

"Oi, whassat?" I sat up, "piece o' shrapnel?" No response. "Lippy, you hit?"

Vadim grunted, "what's wrong, New Fish? Did a few rounds make you nervous?"

Lippy looked up with a new face. His lips were twisted into a cold, sardonic smirk. His laboured breathing was broken by grunts. He growled. His lips were wet with saliva. He looked at Vadim. The object in Lippy's hand was a piece of flesh, Slavin's flesh, ugly yellow, as big as a biscuit and wet with blood. We all looked at it for a long time.

Lippy put the piece of flesh into his mouth, onto his tongue. I thought he was going to vomit. Instead, he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes.

"Don't," I said.

He swallowed.


	15. Chapter 14

08:24/M41/01-40.999/The Frontline/Nemesis Tessera/Nemesis System/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

"Listen to what I say."

Sergeant Scherder paced in front of the four replacements who were sitting silently on their bunks. "Listen to the words I say because I will not say them again. You fishes shall not die on me in combat until I order it. You will talk too loudly, sleep on stag, smoke at night like you were back at home safe, sucking on your mother's breast," Scherder paused to let his words sink in before continuing. "You sprogs will do everything to prove me wrong on that. When on stag you'll write letters, pull your organ and think of your girl back home – forget her. She's getting it double, both in the cunt and arse by two sweaty civvy labourers," Scherder paused once more. "Your enemy is two klicks over the horizon, waiting to kill you. If you ever meet the gentlemen over on the other side you are to treat them with the utmost respect as at night they will be ceaselessly stalking you young masturbators looking for prisoners to take back to their lines to play with. If you meet them twice and survive you will call them mister, maybe even sir. Now, I am tired of filling body bags with mistakes like you."

Lippy snorted.

"Am I being funny?" Scherder said coldly, "New Fish?"

"No, Sarn't, Lippy stifled his grin.

"Listen to what I say. I still haven't even got to the worst part yet. The worst part are the turncoats amongst them. Now since they used to fight on our side that makes them far more dangerous than the ordinary foot-slogger as they know how we fight – our strengths and weaknesses. These men are marines, whom we refer to as 'Nathaniel'. They are so hard their shit has muscles in them. If you ever have the misfortune of encountering one, do not shoot it. Whatever you do, do not shoot it. Your peashooter rifles will make him laugh as your rounds are only tickling him. The way you deal with Nathaniel is to wait for the artillery to hit him. But even then he will have a very high chance of surviving the ordnance dropped on his head. Our one advantage over him is that he will not take cover ever as he believes cover is for the weak. He will always be standing tall as he advances on you with bolter and blade so you'll know when he's coming. But right now Nathaniel isn't a problem. Your only problem is me."

I stood to one side, leaning against a wooden post with my arms folded, listening. I hadn't forgotten what had happened the previous day. Lippy's lapse into cannibalism had, it seemed, gone unnoticed by the platoon though I wasn't sure if Spanners, Antti or Erkki knew.

I watched Lippy. He seemed perfectly fine now. It might've just been the shock that made him do what he did. Either way, I'd be keeping an eye on him.

"Come outside now." Scherder led my fireteam and I out into the biting air.

The rectangle of sky leading away above our heads was an overcast grey. So thick were the clouds, the pink from the Eye of Terror could not be seen.

To our right, sandbagged emplacements and firesteps were manned by the watchful men of 2 Platoon, whose rifles, automatics and stubbers were trained eastwards into the morning fog where – somewhere – the enemy hid.

"Larn, front and centre," Scherder whispered to me.

"Sarn't?" I pushed my way to the front of the small line and looked up at where the NCO was pointing.

"Delta Fireteam mans this sector here. To your right is Mister Krauth. To your left is Mister Antic. Everything between them is your responsibility – come on up."

We clambered up onto the firestep and then into a covered bunker made of sandbags and earth. A tripod-mounted .30 calibre stubber set up in the sustained-fire role had its barrel poking through a narrow gap in the sandbags. Beside it was a spare box of ammunition and a barrel bag.

Scherder glassed the fog-covered no-mans' land for a second before turning to us. "Stay low," he whispered, "this is the most forward position in the Imperium. Everything, everyone beyond this emplacement is enemy."

I nodded once. Nothing needed to be said. "Listen to 'im," I told the four pale-faced privates.

Erkki's good eye was fixed on a rotting corpse hanging on a thick coil of barbed wire ten yards beyond our line. Maggots crawled in and out of its nostrils, its ears and its empty eye sockets. The body was no longer a man - he was a confirmed.

"He paid the price," said Scherder. "That is a confirmed kill. You want these - many of them." He pointed out at several odd white blotches in the fog amongst the coils of wire. "Observe the garden of death. Now the basic operational model militiaman will take six hours to crawl six yards. When he reaches our Walloon mines, he turns them around to face us. We paint the back of them white so we know when they've done this. He will then cut the wire, tape it back and smear it with mud. Adventurous Perfs will sometimes crawl close enough to heave a satchel charge into perimeter bunkers. I expect you to demonstrate Imperial hospitality by grenading them and shooting them to death before they do unless you want to be straight on your way into a long box with metal handles – questions?"

"Ammo? Barrels?" I said.

"Go down and turn left, there's a supply cache behind Corporal Krauth's position." Scherder picked up a clacker and showed it to me. "If the enemy gets too close, bang on this twice. But make sure you remove the safety first."

"Shouldn't we bury 'em?" Spanners was holding his scarf over his mouth and nose. The smell was rather bad now that he mentioned it. I did not notice.

"You're welcome to try. You grab confirmed kills by the ankles or by the wrists and their arms and legs come off in your hands like sticks. If you try and move the torso, it'll disintegrate and leave you with only a handful of maggots. But you're welcome to try. Anything else?"

I weighed up our individual firepower. The one stubber with four riflemen supporting it wouldn't be enough to halt a determined assault even with the handful of Walloons protecting the perimeter. "We need more firepower," I decided.

"You're not alone here. Corporal Krauth's and Corporal Antic' stubbers have your flanks."

"I want a shotgun or an automatic for my fireteam's use – more grenades too."

Scherder nodded, accepting that I understood the situation. "I'll find you a lecta. Don't get your hopes up about the grenades though."

"So what's our mission, Sarn't? What's the battalion's objective?"

"Hold," Scherder said bluntly, "oh and make sure you stay warm. Keep your feet dry too."

Leaving us to our own devices, Scherder slipped out of the bunker and back down into the trench.

"What's he mean by that?" Antti propped his rifle against the wall and drew his knees up to his chin, really only interested in keeping warm. His brother, Lippy and Spanners huddled together.

"Illness of the feet," said I, "trenchfoot. If yer feet are damp in this climate, they turn all different shades of wrong. Then yer toes start to drop off."

"If we get it do we get to go back to the medics?" Erkki asked hopefully.

"Ye do that they'll give ye a can of foot powder and send ye hobblin' right back 'ere. Oh and yer feet have to change colour first before they accept ye. Besides you've only just got 'ere," I hissed, "put a little time in first."

Ignoring the assorted grumblings, I turned my attention to the stubber. Opening the top cover, I removed the loaded belt and gently eased the cocking handle back and forth. I suspected the cold weather would have a bad effect on our weapons, freezing up actions during the night and rendering them inoperable when we needed them. "Oi, keep yer rifle close to yer body at night. Be sure to wipe any grease from the chamber otherwise it'll freeze. Imagine it's a girl with big tits and a warm, wet cunt."

"Hunh," Antti and Erkki grunted. Lippy shivered.

"I don't want to die a virgin," Spanners moaned, "s'not fair. I'm – I'm twenty-two and I never…"

"Shut it," Erkki muttered, "my piles bleed for you. Think of hot meals."

"Eurgh. That horror bag I had was disgusting," Antti sniffed, "I could've sworn that, before, there was a chocolate ration stashed in them somewhere. I 'member having one during basic. They didn't remove it, did they?"

"I never had any chocolate in mine. What ye barking about? There's coffee, salt, milk, sugar, soup, biscuits, cigs… uh, and the dinners of course," Erkki replied.

"I could've sworn that – in the twenty-four hour rat packs – there was some sorta sweets. Chocolate, yeah definitely. I mean, no more chocolate, that'd finish me off. Need my sugar…"

I shut my ears to Antti's mutterings. Satisfied with the .30 cal's condition, I loaded the ammunition belt and pushed the cover back into place. As quietly as I could, I racked the action and let it chamber a round. The ironsights were zeroed out to 200 yards. _Not that we'd ever see 200 yards away._ _We can barely see thirty._

My hands pulled the spare ammunition box and barrel case closer and inspected them. My mind thought back on what Spanners had just said. Dying without ever feeling the embrace of a woman was tough. I was in the same camp as he was though I did not like to admit it in front of the others. As a lance jack with tours under my belt and confirmed kills I was hard and had earned respect on the battlefield. Off it was another story. I hoped to get lucky with a whore someday. A cheap – hopefully clean, maybe even pretty – whore was all we foul-mouthed, scruffy, death-dealing lords of war deserved.

* * *

The grey, frosty hell we found ourselves trapped in was as uncomfortable and uninviting as Broucheroc had been nearly five months ago.

 _Five months!_ It felt like years had passed. There was no way in hell only five months had passed. I felt like an old hand at the game.

"What did they say the signal for incoming rounds was?" Lippy asked, his face muffled in a scarf.

"I can't even tell the difference between incoming and outgoing." Spanners too had fashioned a headwrap that left only his eyes exposed.

"I think it's two long sirens," Antti said.

"What, you scared?"

"Just worried. I wanna know what the signal for incoming rounds is."

"What's the signal for ground attack?"

"Green star cluster," I said.

"Oh yeah, good for night. What are we gonna do during the day?"

"I'd use those pair of eyes the Guard issued you with," A new voice said in a hushed tone.

A young officer, a lieutenant going by his age, knelt in the bunker opening. He wore a windproof, hooded jacket like mine and a peaked crap cap tugged over his close-cropped, dark hair.

I was surprised to see an officer on the frontline. The one subaltern who'd graced us with his presence at Broucheroc had got himself killed on a patrol. I had a vivid recollection of the dying officer, young and handsome-faced like the newcomer, lying face-up in the mud, a victim of the Imperial warmachine. _I thought I could die for the Emperor_. His last words had been. In the end he'd died for nothing.

"Morning sir," I turned away from the stubber and faced the officer, quickly flushing past memories from my mind.

"Morning. You men new?"

"Yes, sir. Lance Corporal Larn. These are Spanners, Lippy, Antti and Erkki."

"Lieutenant Paul Meinerz." Meinerz, surprisingly, shook my hand. "Has Sergeant Scherder briefed you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Anything he didn't make clear?"

"Sir, what's our mission?"

"Hold the line until headquarters says otherwise."

"There's no other reason why we're out 'ere then?"

"I have no idea frankly. The strategic plan isn't something a mere subaltern would have knowledge of. We're here because the General says so." Meinerz noticed Lippy fiddling with the pieces of his disassembled rifle, "what do you plan on doing with that, Private?"

"I'm gonna kill me a mess of Perfs," Lippy replied.

"Oh, you're a killer then?"

"Yup."

"Well, I'll tell you something. We don't see to many Perfs out there. They've got a habit of keeping their heads down during the day. Of course we're trying to break them out of it but it'll take a little time."

"Hmm. I never was fond of ducking. Don't we ever fight out in the open?"

"It's against the rules, Private. You get out in the open and they penalise you sixty years of your life – real years too! None of that rejuvenate tot."

I grinned, heartened that the Lieutenant had his head screwed on tight. "Ye run One Platoon then, sir?"

"That's right. I'm just down the line from you."

"What's so special about Sergeant Scherder, sir?"

Meinerz thought for a moment before saying, "nothing."

"How'd he get the Star of Terra?"

There was little hesitation in the officer's voice when he spoke, as if he'd heard the story a thousand times. "Sergeant Scherder – Lance Corporal back then – was defending an anti-tank gun battery on Pribram – this was six years ago before I joined the Regiment. His unit and the gunners were overrun by tanks and infantry in a surprise counterattack. Scherder was left the lone survivor out of his platoon and the gunners." Meinerz smiled grimly. "Undeterred, he counterattacked by himself, using the AT to engage any tanks that approached and whatever small arms he could find lying around to fight off the infantry. Scherder crawled from gun to gun, dragging ammunition for his weapons with him. Not a single round grazed him. He manned his position for three days, the Emperor standing by his side. Not a single militiaman or tank made it past him. He was fighting alone for three days before relief came. After the battle was over, they counted thirteen destroyed tanks and over one hundred dead militia."

"Throne," Spanners muttered.

"They tried to make him an officer after they pinned the Star on his breast but he wouldn't have it. At least consider retiring from the frontlines, they implored him. No, he said, I belong on the battlefield. I know no home but the foxhole I sleep in."

"And he told ye this?" My throat was dry from listening to the Lieutenant recount Scherder's exploits. The others had been struck dumb.

Meinerz shook his head, "I read the citation. Scherder never spoke a word about it to anyone."

I felt my five months of hardship pale in comparison to the veteran NCO's long years of service. _I_ thought I'd had it bad. My trips through the mill were tiny and insignificant compared to Scherder's. It was then I began to fully understand why Scherder's demeanour was so gaunt. His grey, hollow eyes had seen more war than I would ever see in my lifetime; if I lived that long. To him, I was nothing.

"I must go now." Excusing himself, Lieutenant Meinerz ducked out of the bunker and moved away down the trench.

None of us had any intelligent comment to make. We had been stunned into silence and rendered mute. If the New Fish needed hardening up then that was the perfect thing to do it.

"Ooh, the Lieutenant dropped by, did he?" Tozar appeared where the officer had been squatting not a moment before. In his arms was an LAR with a massively oversized telescopic sight mounted to a rail. Behind Tozar came the bespectacled Vadim.

"How're you young mastubators then? Warm, comfy?"

"Hard," Spanners said bluntly, without looking up.

"Well, you're outta luck, New Fish," Vadim laughed softly, "no women anywhere near here, unless you want to go back to the rear. I know a queer cook or two who'd enjoy getting to know you."

"Our friends are getting their noonday exercises, bang on schedule." Tozar had his eye to his optical sight, his rifle pointed out into no-mans' land.

"Hang on a mo'," I saw that Tozar still had the front sight cover attached. _Is he just having us on?_

"Observe," Tozar carefully handed the rifle to me. "Not you," he pushed the curious Erkki away.

Shouldering the rifle, I grimaced as I felt the increased weight from the heavy sight. My eye made contact with a rubberised eyepiece and widened when – instead of the pale grey fog – I saw an odd green-grey vision.

"Scope covers are still on, so how's this…?"

"The nightsight lets in small amounts of daylight through a hole. Just means you can use it at night as well as during the day."

"Yeah," I grunted. Far away, up the gently sloping waste, I saw dozens of tiny man-shaped specks. They were running up and down with no clear cohesion – right out in the open. "Why are they doing that?" I wondered aloud.

"They ain't issued any cold weather gear like we got. Only way they can get warm's to run up and down like madmen – which is what they are; bunch o' traitorous cunts. The Emperor and I are gonna send 'em all back into that giant pink cum-stain." Tozar accepted his rifle back and tossed a packet of cigarettes at my feet, "smoke 'em up, Corp."

"Thanks," Lippy made a grab for them instead.

"Back off, New Fish," Tozar brought his boot heel down on Lippy's hand.

"Aah! Oi, give over," Lippy winced, yanking back his reddened hand when Tozar lifted up his heel.

"Get some more TI, New Fish. Then I may allow you to speak." Sneering, Tozar slipped out of the bunker. Vadim stared at the replacements for a moment longer before following.

"Git," Spanners said.

"Yeah but he knows how things work round here, so listen to him." I made the point of getting the wetnoses to listen to the veterans who knew. "Don't be an individual here. We work together as a unit supportin' one another. If one of us has a problem, we all have a problem which we work together to solve. Y'understand me?"

"Yep."

"Yeah, Corp."

"Antti, go back down the dugout and bring up some long rats. Lippy, go and get a brew on."

"Alright, how many for a wet?" Lippy asked.

"Yeah," I raised a finger. Spanners and Antti made various grunts and nods of agreement.

"Four then." He himself was partial too, it seemed.

As Lippy and Antti were leaving, Scherder reappeared. In his hands was a short automatic with a stubby barrel and a large, drum-shaped magazine. "How goes it?"

"Quiet. The Perfs are running around out there," I replied.

"Of course." Scherder propped the automatic against the wall and dumped a magazine bag next to it. "Lecta trench-sweeper. Use short bursts, you'll burn through less ammo."

Lippy stretched out his good hand to take the weapon. Scherder batted it away irritably, "for the Corporal, Private!"

"Sorry, Sarn't."

"Why y'always sticking ye fingers where they're not s'posed to be? Get 'em shot off you will," I said derisively, taking the Lecta into my hands.

The Lecta, if that was its official name, was a crude, open-bolt automatic, nearly a dozen inches shorter than our rifles, slightly lighter and more comfortable to shoulder. It had been freshly cleaned as well and smelt of oil.

"That's a pain," I grunted as I found how awkward it was to remove the large magazine, "need three hands for this."

"Slide the magazine out from the side, not downwards," Scherder instructed. "Your drum carries forty-five, your boxes twenty-eight. Don't waste them all at once, however fun a prospect it might seem to you."

I cocked the Lecta and flicked the safety lever around to 'safe', "I don't recognise this weapon system, is it pooled at battalion level?"

"Looted from an enemy position. The militia have better automatics than we do. They hit like marines' bolters and never jam."

"Then would that weapon not carry the taint of chaos?" Erkki regarded the Lecta as if it might explode at any moment. "To even touch one opens the body and mind to possible unholy corruption."

"Should we tell a commissar?" Spanners looked to me.

"Nah, don't be stupid. All that thing carries is rounds to kill the Emperor's enemies. Look we can get it sanctioned if ye really want to… s'only a bloody tool." I hefted it in both hands.

"But the Machine Spirit…"

"There is no spirit! It's just a load of steel and wood welded together. Now shut up the both o' ye." I refused to play make-believe whilst we were in such a precarious position.

Scherder, grim-faced, turned to leave, "from now on, anything you want you must find yourself."

"Sarn't, what are we supposed to do up here?" Erkki asked the question that had been bugging him since he'd been ordered to man the bunker.

"You keep doing what you're doing, New Fish. Any further questions, direct them to Lance Corporal Larn first, clear?"

"Yes, Sarn't," Erkki, now in awe of the Sergeant, retreated behind his scarf.

"Be on your guard. We should be hearing from our friends soon."

"How soon, Sarn't?"

Scherder regarded me with his grey, soulless eyes. "Soon. Keep what you need to kill with close to hand."

"S'cuse me, Sergeant," Lippy and Antti returned, a mug of tea in each hand, "found some lad already making a wet. Dunno who he is."

The lad in question was a smooth-faced boy of about seventeen. He crouched on the steps behind the two privates, his eyes darting this way and that as if frightened he'd be jumped by an unseen assailant.

"Who's that then?" I eyed the boy suspiciously. His uniform wasn't the olive grey combats I was familiar with, or Cadian khaki, but instead a stained, murky brown that was filthy and stunk of body odour. "Does he speak?"

"Open your mouth, lad," Scherder said gently. The boy nodded and opened his mouth. The yellowing rows of teeth parted to reveal the space where his tongue should've been. "They do this to the rank and file they capture. Part of their re-education programme. First they made him watch as his friends were worked over, then they did the same to him. A straight razor cut down the middle of his tongue which they then ripped out."

The boy made an odd grunting noise and then mimed eating something. "They made him eat it afterwards," Scherder added, "but our boy stayed strong. He now wants to kill very many Perfs." The mute lad stretched his arms out in both directions. "He wants to kill marines." Even wider they stretched. "He wants to kill all of them."

"Uh-uh," he winced when he scratched his groin.

"His tongue was not all they took, alas. But it will pale pale in comparison to what he will take from them."

Smiling determinedly, the boy nodded vigorously and gulped down a mouthful of tea.

"Can you taste it?" I asked.

"Urgh," he shrugged and tilted his head from side to side.

"Let this be a reminder to you of the sort of people we are facing. They won't show mercy, pity or feel remorse. They get off to watching you die painfully. And it's important to remember that they'll never take a Nerian alive."

I sat down in the doorway and watched Scherder and the boy depart. A distant _pop-pop-pop_ of a pom-pom battery cut short the silence. White tracers were flung into the air, aimed at an unseen target faraway to the south.

The light was fading when a corporal I did not know stuck his head in the bunker, "Corporal Larn?"

"I'm Larn," I replied.

"The Company Commander wants to see you immediately."

"Right, thanks, Corp."

"Immediately."

"Roger. Alright, Spanners on the gun, Erkki, feed for him. Lippy, you're spotting, watch where the rounds fall. You've got one in five tracers." I handed the Lecta along with its ammo bag to Antti. "Antti, shoot anyone who gets too close. Don't try any long range stuff though – use your rifle for that."

"Righto."

"Lippy, the Walloon's are your responsibility," I pressed the clacker into Lippy's hand.

"Corp, I dunno…"

"Look, remove the safety and bang on it twice but don't do it until the Perf's are in range, got it? I won't be long."

I scrambled down into the trench after the Corporal. A soft shout behind made me turn back to the bunker. Spanner had left the gun and was coming after me.

"Get back on your weapon," I pointed at him, annoyed at my orders being disobeyed already.

"Corp, can I just get a word?" Spanners said anxiously.

"Quick, Spanners."

"Spanners ain't my name. It's Martti, Martti Sinric. Lippy's name's Staf Kulich. Promise us that you'll get us through this in one piece."

"Alright, I promise," I stuck out my hand, "I'm James Larn."

We shook.

* * *

"Stand at ease."

I stood easy. Captain Kaukasios shared his dugout with the Battalion Commissar, a young, pale-skinned chap, and two orderlies. Compared to our billets, this one was lavishly furnished, with fine linen as well as fruit bowls and many pictures lining the shelves.

Captain Kaukasios, sat beside a wooden table, had his laspistol disassembled in front of him. Also sitting was Lieutenant Meinerz. The Commissar, in cap and greatcoat, stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Now, Lance Corporal Larn – or Tillot is it? Now you will tell me why you were going under a false name when we first met." He watched me expectantly, "well, have you nothing to say for yourself?"

"Sir. I was acting under orders…"

"Whose?" Kaukasios' attention was half on me, half on his sidearm. His fingers worked deftly to clean and reassemble the weapon's few pieces as he listened.

"I don't know, sir."

"Were your orders given in writing?"

"Yes, sir."

"Show me."

"It's back with my kit, sir."

"Franz, fetch it."

"Sir, at once." The Captain's orderly hastened from the dugout. He was back in scant minutes.

"Now show me your orders," Kaukasios demanded, pointing at my kitbag that had been set upon a nearby table.

"What is the purpose of this, Captain?" Meinerz asked, "Corporal Larn's done nothing wrong."

"That remains to be seen," Kaukasios said slowly, "well?"

"Sir, my orders," I pulled out the folded up scrap of paper I – thankfully – hadn't destroyed and presented it to Captain Kaukasios.

"Who is Tillot?" Kaukasios brandished the paper at me once he'd finished reading, "well, who is this Tillot? Why is he important?"

"He wasn't, sir…"

Kaukasios flew up from his chair and stuck his face in mine. "Insubordinate lout!" he spat.

I did not flinch and stared him down. My linked hands tightened behind my back.

"Where were you stationed before?"

"Grendel, sir."

"And what happened on Grendel?"

"Sir?"

"Why were you posted to here from there then?"

"Can't say sir, my orders came from the highest authority."

"I have been blessed with the capacity to understand written text. Something wasted on you I see! Now why were you ordered to leave Grendel?"

"It was a favour, sir. I was involved in an operation to assassinate an Eldar warlord. It was most secret, sir. It was their way of saying thank you."

"Whose way? The _Eldar?_ They are nothing but arrogant savages! If you have been in any way affiliated with Xeno filth then you will be shot on the spot."

"I served under an individual who had the Imperium's best interests at heart. He was human."

"And his name?"

"I didn't know his name, sir. It was secret."

"Hmph. I am beyond playing games, boy," Kaukasios stabbed in finger at me. "You overestimate your importance. All you are, all you may become is dependent upon this present company."

"And what does Kora, your mistress, think, sir? I enjoyed her company."

Kaukasios went white with rage. Balling a fist, he sunk it into my stomach, "BASTARD!"

I grunted in pain but did not fall to my knees.

"Dare you speak to me in such manner!" Kaukasios snatched his reassembled laspistol from the table and thrust it at the Commissar, "Commissar Kazel, you will take this sidearm and you will execute this insubordinate on the spot!"

"Sir?" Commissar Kazel, looked confusedly between me and Kaukasios.

"This is a disciplinary matter, your responsibility, Commissar. A non-commissioned officer has just insulted his company commander. Another officer was witness to it. You have the authority to implement the Emperor's justice, now do it!"

"Excuse me, sir!" Meinerz stood up and rammed his cap on his head, glared at Kaukasios, and strode out of the dugout.

"Lieutenant, I did not dismiss you!" Kaukasios shouted after him. "Bah, no matter. I will deal with him later. Commissar, execute this boy!"

Kazel's hand trembled when he pointed Kaukasios' laspistol at me.

"Not here, do it outside! Then have someone throw his body on the wire. Have it serve as a reminder to those who are rebellious."

"Outside, Corporal," Kazel beckoned.

"Kora told me everything, sir. Your family's of great interest to Ordo Hereticus. Didn't you know she was a spy?"

"OUT!" Kaukasios barked, turning his back on me.

"Outside, Corporal," Kazel took hold of my arm and led me out into the darkness.


	16. Chapter 15

21:57/M41/01-40.999/The Frontline/Nemesis Tessera/Nemesis System/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

The shelling began to thunder again. Mist rose from newly dug holes out in no-mans' land, stretching its fingers around fearfully before floating up over the edges and away. Long, white streaks drifted from one hole to the next, as if spreading ghostly secrets between the dead.

I stood outside the Company Commander's dugout, the cold making my hands shake. I felt limp and drained.

"Would you like to say anything?" Commissar Kazel asked quietly.

The grumble of artillery grew louder in my ears. "Does it matter?" I asked.

"No. You are one of the lucky few. Know that I do not do this willingly, yet I must do my duty."

A loud squeal directly above our heads made Kazel lose his balance and stumble against the trench wall. "That's over our heads," I said flatly. The squeal one heard was ranging stuff or direct fire. The ones you didn't hear were incoming.

"Oh!" Kazel steadied himself.

"Are you gonna…" I was cut off by a tremendous bang behind me. For a moment I was weightless, flying as if I'd spouted wings, then I felt the wooden duct boards underneath my back, pressing into my spine. I teetered on the edges of sleep. My muddled senses were thrust into limbo. Like a spectre, I floated inbetween existence.

A flare, burning a bright white, hung in the sky. Another person's hand reached out to grasp the light. Strangely it danced this way and that, always avoiding the searching, desperate fingers. It teased the glove mercilessly, always staying just out of reach.

A firm grip in my hand and it became my own again. Warm fingers touched my scraped palm –suddenly bare – soothing the sore flesh. Incandescent words, spoken in a foreign tongue floated down to my ears, calming the ringing.

 _On your feet_ , Izuru's voice commanded.

" _Go away_." I felt the words leave my mouth but the sound was lost to the night.

 _Open your eyes._

Through twin cracks in my eyelids, I made out a silhouette outlined by the light from the flare. Izuru, her body shrouded in a dark robe, stood above me. Again her face was in shadow, hidden underneath a hood. I looked at her outstretched arm. My eyes followed it down to where her hand was holding my wrist.

 _Take hold and regain your feet_.

" _I can't_." My body, soft and flabby, was slowly being sucked into the earth. Dark things whispered to me, their voices chanting the same verses over and over again. Black spots began to swim across my vision.

 _You have a duty of care, your men need you - now is not the time to give up!_

" _Help me._ "

 _Only you can help yourself._

Summoning strength I didn't know I had, I wriggled free from the earth's warm and comforting embrace. My fingers closed around Izuru's wrist and tightened. I felt her immense strength pulling me upright, towards the light and out of the darkness' reach. For the briefest moment, I saw her face just before the light went out – she was smiling.

I front of me – behind where I'd been standing – the trench wall had been smashed to pieces. Sharp, jagged pieces of wood, torn from the walls and the floor had been thrown in all directions, showering everything with splinters. I was covered with dozens of little bits but had been saved the worst of the blast. It seemed the shrapnel had missed me almost entirely.

Absent any feeling, I brushed muck from my arms and torso. My cover, knocked askew on my head I took great pains to set right.

 _Am I hit?_ I checked my vital parts, my arms and my legs for any odd wetness or lack of presence. _No, I'm alright._

Broucheroc – the memory of the shard of metal I'd been dinked by – repeated itself in my mind. I was a child again; unblooded and ignorant, crawling teary-eyed and fearful across the muddy corpse field. I was alone in my own thoughts. But they weren't really thoughts; they were memories that came to torment me in my weakness and failure to protect those I cared for.

The Commissar, now without hat and sidearm, staggered about limply, his hands clutched to his head. Both of his ears were bleeding and his black leather trenchcoat was in tatters.

"Corporal," a voice whispered urgently.

"Wha—?" I grunted.

Lieutenant Meinerz appeared by my side and pulled my arm over his shoulder. "C'mon, Corporal."

"Lieutenant?"

"That wasn't wise insulting Kaukasios like that," Meinerz whispered as he pulled me away down the trench. "You must be careful, young Larn. He's taken a strong dislike to you."

"Feelin's bloody mutual," I replied. "I'll survive him. I've survived worse."

"You're not dealing with just another Schola Progenium type…" Meinerz and I ducked as more shells exploded nearby. "…This one is pure Imperial military aristocracy – and rich. You know the ruling classes."

"No, but what's gonna be left for 'em to rule after this?"

"Don't be naïve! Kaukasios will survive this, one way or another. And he'll still have his land, his wealth…"

Another flare was shot up, throwing its merciless glare over the stony landscape, inviting more guns to deliver unseen packages of death to us. Both the subaltern and I crouched low as dust and dirt was dumped onto our heads.

"…And his status," Meinerz continued, "but he'll be very dangerous in defeat. Be careful with him. He doesn't live in the same world we live in."

"Nah, he's living in my world now – Scherder's too. If he ain't careful he might accidently get shot in the back!"

"Careful, Corporal. You tread carefully now – I mean it!"

"Yeah, sure. How're the lads?"

"Sheltered and resting. There'll be no attack tonight. Sergeant Scherder suspects they'll come tomorrow."

"How's he figure that out?"

"Dunno, it's Scherder! He has a sixth sense for this sort of thing." Meinerz let go of my arm and helped me inside the platoon's dugout. "You stick by him and maybe you'll be alright."

 _A decent officer._ I was glad better men like him existed, however few and far between they were.

* * *

Kaukasios' right hand trembled in fear. Pouring himself a glass of Sacra, he downed it in one followed by another in quick succession. He had tried so hard to conquer his fear but was failing and had turned to the bottle.

The Commissar was taking his time. He hoped he would not get cold feet at the last moment and lose his nerve. It was typical of political officers – yellow through and through – to serve in a forward area but not pack the stomach to do so – and how Kaukasios hated them.

Kaukasios would carry out the action if the cowardly Kazel could not. He knew the man's true nature. "Well?" He demanded on hearing the Commissar's footsteps. "Is the insubordinate dead?"

Commissar Kazel tottered into the light. His cap was gone, as was Kaukasios' laspistol. "What the hell happened to you?"

Kazel had his hands over his ears. Blood leaked between his fingers and ran down his neck. "Commissar?" Kazel's orderly hurried over to him. "Commissar, are you alright?"

"What in the Warp is the matter with you?" Kaukasios spat.

"That artillery must've caught them, sir. Commissar Kazel's deafened, he can't hear."

"Yes, I can see that. Get him somewhere and tend to him. He doesn't look too badly hurt."

"Here, Commissar. Right over there." The orderly assisted the groggy Kazel in climbing into his bunk.

"Is the insubordinate dead? And where is my sidearm? You know how much that cost!" Kaukasios exploded, casting off his greatcoat that he'd draped over his shoulders and bearing down on Kazel. "Talk, you filthy little Blackcoat!"

"Sir, the Commissar is in no fit state to speak," Kazel's orderly pleaded. "He will be alright in a short while. Please, sir, let him rest."

Kaukasios spun round and paced restlessly about. " _Have to know that little shit is dead,"_ he muttered under his breath. "Inform me when the Commissar comes to!"

"You've been gone a while, Corp." Staf Kulich rolled over on his side on hearing me stagger in from outside.

"Kaukasios – he's a right twatter!" I grumbled. Unclasping my belt kit, I threw it on the floor and then myself onto the empty bunk beneath Staf's. For once I was grateful of the warmth my heatstroke vest provided, so that stayed on. "Somethin' in my cover bloody stinks." I sniffed the inner lining of my ceramite helmet before laying it against my gear.

"So what 'appened then?" Staf's head appeared over the edge of his bunk, looking down at me.

"Yeah, alright, Lip – Staf! You bring yer weapons in?"

"All accounted for, Corp. Rifles and the Lecta." Martti had hold of the latter.

"No fightin' over it. We'll pass it round first, see who's the best shot with it. Oi, what about the thirty? Anyone bring the thirty in?"

"Nah, Corp," Antti said, "Scherder says to leave it out there. If we get contact we pour hot oil over it to get it up and pumping."

"Oh right, how 'bout yer socks? Yer feet dry?"

A voice drifted over from the other side of the dugout. "Cor, he don't 'alf like his authority."

"Silence, Tozar. Let the little fish sleep."

Sleep, I found, was impossible. My body was awake and restless, too energised to wind down. The irritating ringing in my right ear had returned.

For the first time in a good long while, my leg ached. It was from the chunk of wall I'd taken in the thigh before my capture by the Corsairs. _But why return now?_ I wondered. I'd examined the dull white mark so many times, surprised at how easily it had healed, but didn't understand why they – the enemy – had gone to the trouble of doing so. All Vliss and the Princess had wanted was to kill me as painfully as possible, the former due to his sadism, the latter in retaliation for Izuru ruthlessly slaughtering her way through the Void Dragons to reclaim her children, Ilic and Korsarro _._ I remembered the names of the two young boys Izuru had given so much for. They were strong lads, despite their age, and though both mother and sons had been separate for so long, neither had given up on the other. They shared a deep bond, a special kind of love that I would never understand.

"What you thinking, Corp?" Antti brought my mind back to the present quite suddenly.

"None of yer business," I replied grumpily.

Turning my head, I looked over at the bunk adjacent to mine. Antti, sitting upright with his head against a wooden post, had a blanket pulled up around him and was scribbling something on a small sheaf of yellowing paper. "Writing a letter?"

"Nah, only get censored. I'm a poet."

"Ye what?" I sat up, intrigued at the sudden confession.

"You never told me that." Erkki leant over the side of his bunk and looked down at his brother. "Shouldn't keep stuff from me, little brother." He poked Antti in the arm, "c'mon, give us a look."

"Nah, s'not finished yet," Antti growled, "piss off."

"So what else ye button yer jacket over then?" I said, undoing the snaps of my flak jacket and shoving it down by my feet. The thing was warm but terribly uncomfortable to lie down in; as I found.

"Bit of writing, this and that."

"Done a bit of that myself," Martti grunted from the bunk behind my head. "Dirty stuff mind you – for during the night."

I sensed him grinning and couldn't help smiling myself, "yeah, just keep the noise down, Martti."

"Ooh, I dunno 'bout that. Give us a look sometime." Erkki's ears had pricked up.

"Yeah, pass it round," Antti chuckled. "How 'bout you, Staf?"

"Not after your sticky hands have been all over it, thanks."

I couldn't see his expression but judged it to be one of irritation. Of course this was all new to the four Nerians who had yet to adjust to their surroundings. To them, this was unnatural and possibly terrifying. I had to remind myself that these wetnoses had never killed anyone before, never seen the horrific things humans could do to one another, or smell the aftermath. And it was impossible to gauge just what their reaction would be to it.

Erkki's voice awoke me on the verge of sleep. "Corp? Y'know in the primer…"

"Pay no attention," I cut across him immediately, "it's all bollocks – well nearly all bollocks anyway. On Broucheroc the Vardans used it as bog roll, it was that useless."

"So why'd they give it to us anyway if it's all crap?"

"What's this?" Staf's head appeared again over the lip.

"Give ye false hope? I dunno," I shrugged, "cause they're idiots who never leave their comfy chairs in their air-conditioned offices. All a bunch o' rear-echelon, bureaucratic, pencil pushin', arrogant, obnoxious, beige cunts who – each and every one of 'em – pack small and inoffensive genitalia. I wish a thousand itchy, uncomfortable, sexual diseases on them."

The air was silent for a moment. The Nerians, by their slow breathing, were still working out what I'd just said; or more importantly, why.

"So you don't like the Administratum then, Corp?" Martti said gently, as if afraid I might drop another rant.

"But they're the best in the business," Erkki muttered, bemused.

 _Fox Company, Jumael 14_ _th_ _would strongly and unanimously protest that claim,_ I thought grimly. The Admin buggers, whose fingers worked the keypads, were the ones responsible for accidentally sending the 200 man unit to their deaths. I never forgave them for that.

"'F the Commissar catches you sayin' that, you could be shot, Corporal."

"Oh forget the Commissar – he's got a yellow streak a klick wide. Kaukasios has got him under his thumb – that's confirmed."

Scherder had been listening it seemed. "Kaukasios isn't a fool, Larn, he's a coward. Cowards can still be dangerous."

"Yeah, Sarn't."

"Er, Corp," Erkki said, "about the primer…"

Groaning, I rested my forearm over my eyes and screwed them shut. I couldn't be arsed to go over the primer's shortcomings at such a late hour. "I'll explain in the morning."

"I just wanted to know whether you can help us survive, that's all."

"Yeah, just a few pointers," Antti added, "be a big help to us, 'cause we don't know anything."

"Hmph, you're the first wetnoses who've actually admitted they know nothing." Corporal Antic sounded surprised on hearing that. He lifted his head up from his pillow and looked over at Delta Fireteam, "you hear that, Scherder?"

"Mmm. I expect you, Larn, to lecture your four individuals on how to survive the next few weeks. If they are still alive after that then maybe they'll have learnt how to not be individuals; it's up to you."

"Right, Sarn't."

Gradually the conversation began to die down. Whispers were replaced by gentle snores, candles were extinguished and cigarettes stubbed out.

* * *

I lay awake listening to the faraway crump of artillery for a long time. Our sector had gone quiet, the last shells long since fallen from the sky. In the darkness I listened to the creaking of wood and the skittering claws of vermin. A low cough was heard every now and again quickly followed by a throat being cleared. Sleep's warm embrace continued to dance out of my reach, teasing me like the flare had.

Finally I decided it was no use pretending I was asleep. Throwing back the itchy woollen blanket, I pulled my flak jacket on and rested my feet on the floor. Despite being underneath several pairs of socks, my toes were still cold and uncomfortable. I watched them wiggle through the black leather toecaps of my boots, I did not know why but it seemed to trigger past memories I thought it'd forgotten.

Platis, where the Corsairs stalked me through the derelict factories – their whoops and howls filling my ears, scaring me witless, came back to me there and then. At that point I was truly alone and in terrible danger. That thought – now, rather than back then – rattled me.

Leaning forwards, I rested my head in my hands and slowly rocked back and forth. _Why am I afraid of it now? Why not back then?_ The recollection somehow was worse than when it actually happened. My hands ran up my brow and gathered up clumps of my hair, scrunching them up, pulling on them, threatening to tear them out. Drawing in a silent lungful of air, I counted to three then let it out slowly.

I reached for my pistol belt and pulled it on around my waist, the weight of the Moses comforting. Outside the air, well below sub-zero, was almost painful to breathe. There was little warmth in my cover and flak. I pondered whether or not my nostril hair or eyebrows would freeze if I stayed out too long. Reaching a hand up to my face, I pulled off a glove and rubbed where it was coldest. I did not mind though, the chill kept me awake and alert since sleep was an impossibility for me.

A gust of wind picked up around my feet. I imagined hearing ghostly, disembodied voices whispering to me, _Larn, Larn_ , _Laaarn_ , accompanied by more voices gently chanting in the strange tongue.

My fingers clasped the grip of my pistol. I turned and looked over my shoulder in alarm but the trench was clear both ways. My eyes narrowed. I felt anger build up at my paranoia that was making me see and hear things that weren't there – or were they?

I stared hard into the darkness until my eyes adjusted, but it remained still. Suspicion, paranoia and a cold fear ran through my body like liquid, enough for the hairs on my arms to raise.

"Larn."

I had the Moses halfway out of its holster before I recognised the voice's owner – Staf Kulich. "Should be sleepin'," I muttered, quickly shaking my head clear and assuming a bored tone.

"Can't." Staf shrugged and came to stand next to me.

"Rule number one, sleep when ye can," I said, "eat too."

"Okay."

"Never know when yer gonna get the chance next."

"Cigarette?" Staf offered me a light that was poking out of its packet.

"No lights at night. Put 'em away, Staf. Don't be daft."

"Sorry," he grunted.

"Ye wanna smoke, do it inside."

"Yeah, um… it's just…"

"What, wassup?"

"Comin' up here… well, I was scared – terrified honestly. I thought someone was hitting the outside of the carrier with a hammer. And we were all bloody shakin' down there not able to shoot back. You were up there on the fifty returning fire – so it was alright for you, you could do somethin' about it. Dunno, I just felt completely helpless just sitting there waiting for a rocket or mortar to hit us. I tried to estimate how long we'd have to bail out of the carrier if it caught fire. I was worried th – worried that if I told anyone else, I'd be shot for cowardice, cause that's how it works; isn't it?"

I tried to empathise with Staf but to my dismay, I found I couldn't. I realised I did not care. This lad would be nothing to me when he got his arms and legs blown off. I did, however, know what it was like to be helpless and unable to fight back. "I know how ye feel. But from here on it's only gonna get worse – a lot worse. We're standin' on the frontline, you and I. We're not expected to survive."

"Then please take this." Staf passed me a folded up note with a photo fastened to it with an elastic band.

"Who?" I held the picture up to my nose and squinted at it in the darkness. All I could see were two figures, one in uniform, the other in civvy clothes carrying a bundle of rags.

"Me and Anna"

"Didn't say ye were married."

"We're not. Didn't plan on telling anyone honestly cause non-married couples are looked down on in Nerian society. Took a while to save up to get the picture taken – bloomin' expensive. Eight months to get it sent out, developed and shipped back – that was what they told me."

"Good, don't show this picture to anyone, ever. If you do you'll take on a patch of land for sure. Go on, take it back. I don't want it."

"No, underneath there's a note, case I don't make it. You're less likely to get it up here than me so I want you to take the note and deliver it to Anna case the worst happens."

"Shit, Staf, you're not dying just yet," I said firmly, "you and the rest of the team are gonna make it through – I'm gonna bring you through. Look we got Scherder leadin', he knows the score. It's gonna be alright."

"But you said it's only gonna get worse from here."

"Yup, neither of us has seen the worst of this yet. All we can do it wait." Removing the band from around the note, I stuffed it in my trouser pocket. The picture I studied for a moment more. "What's she carrying?" I inquired on the odd shape in her arms.

"Our son," Staf said quietly.

"Oh, how old's he?"

"He was twelve months old."

 _He was twelve months old_.

"Sorry, Staf… didn't know," I muttered. I desperately wanted to feel some sort of sympathy for Staf's family but again I found it beyond my capability. If it were possible for me to kick myself, I would have. What had become of my compassion? My capacity to experience strong emotions?

"Not your fault." Staf accepted the picture, oblivious to my internal conflict. "It was meningitis. The Medicae told us he wasn't in any pain," he chuckled, "s'alright because he didn't feel it." Staf's soft laughter gave way to sobs. He looked down at the picture held in his hands and shook. " _Be with me now_ ," he whispered to it.

I had no words of comfort and figured Staf wanted to be alone. I clapped a hand on his shoulder gently and went back inside.

* * *

The mirror was cracked, something Kaukasios found odd. It had been spotless the previous day but, this morning, a thin line had appeared on the glass. _That clumsy oaf of an orderly must've knocked it_ , he thought, dragging his razor across his chin. "Ah!" he felt the blades knick his skin around the edge of his jaw drawing a tiny spot of blood. Not at all squeamish, Kaukasios finished shaving and wiped his face with a hand towel. In the distance, above the ground, the first salvos of the day were landing, both sides bidding good morning and complementing one other on their destructive prowess.

Frowning at the mirror, Kaukasios checked his hairline for any irregularities and, satisfied he was well turned out, did up the top button of his jacket. _Max Kaukasios, Star of Terra_ , he imagined the headlines saying. His picture, his name would go down in history and be on the list of heroes – a mere few thousand – whose bravery was unsurpassed. He would be remembered as a hero with tales spoken about his deeds – he had to be remembered a hero lest he fade from memory like so many promising officer candidates who had dreamt of wearing the coveted crimson bar before him. _It will be mine,_ Kaukasios' lip curled.

A rustle of clothing behind made him angle the mirror to the right, allowing him to see the rest of the dugout. Commissar Kazel had arisen and was talking quietly with his orderly in a corner. Kaukasios watched with growing suspicion as Kazel murmured something and stroked the other's cheek. Smirking, Kaukasios tilted the mirror back in its place and strode over to his bed. "Good morning, Commissar," he said loudly, "I trust you have recovered sufficiently."

"Certainly, Captain," Kazel, noticing Kaukasios' attention, nodded and shooed his orderly away, "I must apologise for my conduct last night, I had rather a funny turn."

"Well, nothing a good nights' sleep will not remedy." Kaukasios lay down on his bed and rested on an elbow. "You, if you wouldn't mind," he gestured at Kazel's orderly to remove his dirty boots and replace them with a clean, shined pair.

"Commissar?" the orderly looked from Kaukasios to his superior.

"Yes, Roat, do as the Captain commands."

Kaukasios watched as Roat knelt down beside his bed and began to work the tall leather boots off. "Gently, gently," Kaukasios said soothingly.

A muscle twitched in Kazel's jaw. His eyes were on Roat as he pulled a cigarette from his pocket. "Captain, about last night…"

"Ah, I am certain you did your duty, Commissar, think no more of it."

Why was Kaukasios all smiles this morning? Kazel did not like it. "Yes, Captain."

"Here." Kaukasios flicked open a lighter and held it up.

"Mm, thank you," Kazel bent down and held his cigarette there for a moment. Again Kaukasios' eyes flicked across to Roat, busying himself with cleaning Kaukasios' boots.

"Where were you stationed before you joined the battalion?" Kaukasios asked.

"On Haven, the southern continent," Kazel stepped back and leant against a post.

Kaukasios grinned, "I know it well. Sit down."

"Thank you, Captain, I'll remain standing."

"Sit down," Kaukasios said, keeping his tone warm and friendly. "Tell me about it. It's such a beautiful planet – the south especially!" He watched as Kazel perched on the edge of the bed and tried not to look uncomfortable. "And being transferred must've come hard?"

"After graduating I found myself at a loose end. I applied for the transfer as you did, Captain," Kazel said evenly.

"As I did? That's interesting." Kaukasios nodded at Roat, "your orderly?"

"We served together."

"On the southern continent of Haven!" Kaukasios laughed softly, "ah, such beautiful restaurants, the sacra, the food, the women – the women, Kazel!" Kaukasios balled a fist and shook it with emphasis.

"I did not have much time to think about girls."

"Really? And you, Roat? Did you enjoy the women of Haven?" Kaukasios' warm smile made Roat grin.

"On occasion."

"Mmm. Let me ask you a question, Kazel. Do you like soldiering?"

"Certainly, I like it, sir. But it is strange at times."

"It is a very different environment indeed," Kaukasios agreed. "One of danger and one of men."

"The Guard is known to deploy female battalions. There is also the occasional mixed-gender battalion."

"Ah but they are few and far between. In a galaxy this big and with the glorious Imperium stretching from one corner to the other, the vast majority of the Astra Militarum is a male organisation; in other words no women – entire worlds without women, Roat?"

"Yes?" Roat looked up.

"A galaxy without women, Roat. Now I have this theory that men can cope without women easily. A man's true destiny is not just breeding children, but to rule and to fight; in other words to lead a man's existence. Women are no more than a nuisance. Were the Emperor's children not all male? Each one abstaining from any sexual or emotional attachment and fully devoting themselves to their father's will? The Marine Legions – chapters now – are each and every one of them, male. Commissars, like yourself, are all men, not a single woman stands in your ranks. The Imperium is a male entity, rules by males and values them over women who are of lesser importance, the only exception being that they can provide many healthy babies for the Emperor's service." Kaukasios snapped his fingers in satisfaction.

"If I have to, I can do without women," Kazel said slowly.

"Really?" Kaukasios feigned surprise. "And you Roat? Can you do without women?" The corners of Kaukasios' mouth twitched as he watched the young man squirm under his gaze. "Tell me, what is your first name?"

"Gurd."

"Gurd, Gurd" Kaukasios murmured, exhaling smoke. "Do you prefer the company of men over women in any situation, right?"

As if unsure of the right answer to give, Roat glanced at Kazel who said, "I don't understand, Captain."

"Come on, Kazel. You don't have to put up a front with me. Do you prefer the society of men over women? Say yes, for the Emperor's sake man – say yes!"

"Possibly…"

Kaukasios leant forwards, a gleam in his eye. "You said yes," he whispered, "you said yes!"

The colour drained from Roat's face when Kaukasios stabbed a finger at him. "He said yes, didn't he, Roat? He said yes! Didn't he, Roat?" Back and forth went Kaukasios' outstretched finger, pointing from one to the other. "He said yes. Didn't he, Roat?"

"Yes," Roat whispered.

"Louder!"

"Yes."

"Say yes – loud!"

Roat dropped the boots he was cleaning and stood up. "Yes," he said clearly.

"Louder!"

"YES!"

"Louder!" Kaukasios shouted.

"YES!"

All the friendliness had vanished from Kaukasios' face. It was replaced by a cold, hard stare. Standing, he regarded the both of them with unveiled contempt and an ice-cold hatred. "I can assure you of this. If you get caught, you will be hanged slowly, both of you." Kaukasios glared at Kazel for a long moment before rounding on Roat. "Together." He stroked a hand down Roat's cheek and patted it gently.

A loud blaring from the handheld vox cut the silence. Turning his back on the Commissar and Roat, Kaukasios picked up the earpiece. "This is Cain Zero Alpha."

"Zero speaking, Sunray wants to you to report to the CP at once," a voice said.

"Roger, Zero Alpha copies all."

"Zero out."

Replacing the vox piece, Kaukasios threw on his greatcoat. "Neither you nor your orderly will be here when I return." He did not wait for a reply from Kazel who was standing statue-like with a frozen expression, just put on his helmet and left the dugout.


	17. Chapter 16

07:03/M41/01-40.999/The Frontline/Nemesis Tessera/Nemesis System/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

Max Kaukasios was on the receiving end of a vicious tongue-lashing from Colonel Gausser the instant he had been admitted into the battalion CP. Gausser had curtly ordered Kaukasios to sit at the empty table underneath his steely gaze. Captain Glowna, eschewing a chair, had stood off to one side. Not one to mince words, Gausser got to the point immediately. "Captain, word has reached my ears of an incident that occurred last night. You ordered your company commissar to perform a summary execution of a non-commissioned officer, is that correct?"

Kaukasios looked the Colonel squarely in the eye and stuck out his chin. "Certainly, Colonel. The individual was guilty of gross insubordination, a crime clearly stated in the Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer on section two, page nine. Any soldier who behaves himself with disrespect – in words or action – to an officer or…"

Gausser raised his voice and held up a hand to stop the Captain from nattering on. "I am well aware of the rules and regulations concerning the Imperial soldier, Captain, thank you! Was I not clear? Did or did I not explain very carefully that _all_ disciplinary issues are to be overseen by a commissar and I?"

"Colonel…"

"If this is true, and the soldier was executed on your orders, I shall be compelled to institute disciplinary proceedings on you, as well as Commissar Kazel."

"Colonel, I…" Kaukasios reddened.

"Was the soldier executed or not?" Gausser glared.

"I was not present, sir. I sent Commissar Kazel outside of the dugout to do it."

"Were there any others who witnessed this?"

"Lieutenant Meinerz was there too, sir," Kaukasios said.

"Fetch Lieutenant Meinerz and Commissar Kazel, I want to see them immediately," Gausser said to an aide. "We shall soon get to the bottom of this."

"Sir?" Meinerz was the first to arrive. Kazel entered soon after.

"Come in, gentlemen. Now, as you are no doubt aware, Captain Kaukasios had you, Kazel, perform a summary execution on a soldier guilty of insubordination. You were present at the time, Lieutenant, what happened?"

"Lance Corporal Larn, sir…" Meinerz began.

"Who?"

"Lance Corporal Larn was the soldier. Captain Kaukasios asked him about why he was impersonating someone else, someone by the name of Tillot – I did not know why though. Perhaps a past encounter?" Meinerz turned to Kaukasios.

"I encountered Corporal Larn aboard the warship, Aegis Fury, sir. Then he was a private going under the name Tillot which I assumed was his real name. On our next encounter at Camp Macharius he gave his name as Larn and later when I asked him why, he produced some falsified swill allegedly back by the Lord Commander Militant that he was acting under orders of an agent of the Imperium and had assisted in assassinating an Eldar warlord! Naturally I did not believe such falsified swill!" Kaukasios laughed.

Guasser remained stone-faced. "These orders – they were in writing?"

"No, sir, most certainly not," Kaukasios lied through his teeth.

"Sir, if I may?" Meinerz stepped in.

"Lieutenant?"

"Corporal Larn's orders _were_ in writing, he handed them to Captain Kaukasios himself, I saw it."

"Lieutenant, you know that is not…" Kaukasios said quickly before being cut off sharply by Gausser.

"I want to see these orders – where are they?"

Kaukasios' heart skipped several beats. He remembered in a panic that the sheet of paper was still on his table – he'd forgotten to destroy it! Silently gritting his teeth, he said, "in my bunker."

Kaukasios could do nothing but simmer where he sat. The seal of the Lord Commander, though broken, was genuine. Its presence would most likely exonerate Larn from any form of punishment simply because he carried the mark. Mentioning his insubordination would force him to explain about his mistress, something he could not do for obvious reasons. Kaukasios had been beaten. Losing was not something he was used to – it rankled him.

"Well, Captain?" Gausser looked to Glowna who held the crumpled sheet of paper in his hands.

"Private Larn, you are ordered to report to 2 Platoon, 'C' Company, 1 Neria, Nerian 228th Infantry Regiment within the next three weeks. The 228th is currently deployed on operations on Nemesis Tessera. The Destroyer Aegis Fury will take you as far as Agripinaa. Once there you will use the identification provided and locate suitable transport to Nemesis Tessera. After reaching Nemesis Tessera, you will destroy anything linking you to Tillot and forget his existence." Glowna paused, his eyes scanning the last line several times, "signed, the Lord Commander Militant."

"Give it here." Guasser took the paper and read it through. "The seal and signature are genuine. It appears Corporal Larn was telling the truth, Captain."

Kaukasios said nothing.

"Meinerz summon Corporal Larn please, I want to hear it from his mouth."

"Sir."

Meinerz left, leaving Kaukasios to shrink underneath the cold stares of the two staff officers. Gausser ran a thumb across his chin and said, in a quiet voice, "I do not like officers who bully and belittle those under their command. Now unless you wish to further press charges of insubordination, Captain, then Corporal Larn will no longer be guilty. Well, what say you?"

Kaukasios' eyes were fixed on the tablecloth when he finally spoke, "I wish to withdraw my accusations, sir. Corporal Larn was not at fault."

"Very well. Thank you, Captain, you are dismissed."

Standing up, Kaukasios straightened his tunic and saluted, clicking his heels also.

"Balls," Glowna muttered once Kaukasios had left.

"Does he honestly think he is free to preach whatever… swill the Schola Progenium hammered into his head out here?" Gausser tutted and shook his head in disgust. "He is convinced his family's wealth and influence grants him superiority over us all."

"I wonder what Corporal Larn will say to that," Captain Glowna said gloomily.

"I pity him, having to serve under a man like Kaukasios…"

* * *

Ducking underneath a low beam, I stepped out of the cold and into the warmly-lit command post. Lieutenant Meinerz had led me back from the company area and behind the support trenches to a large dugout that was 1 Neria's CP.

"Come on in, Corporal, shut the door behind you," Meinerz said over his shoulder.

I pulled the wooden door closed and set the latch in place, sealing the stuffy bunker.

"Lance Corporal Larn I presume?" A stocky Lieutenant Colonel with grey hair and a neatly-trimmed moustache sat at a cluttered table along with an extremely shabby and ill-looking captain whose hair was in dire need of a cut. Commissar Kazel, unwilling to meet my eye, lurked in a corner away from everything else.

"Sir," I snapped to attention before the colonel.

"At ease, Corporal, I am Colonel Gausser, your battalion commander." G

ausser seemed surprise at my youth though he hid it well.

"Do you recognise this?" Guasser held up a folded sheet of paper.

"Yes, sir, my orders."

"Which came from whom exactly?"

"Well, I didn't know his real name, sir…"

"Was he human?"

"Yes, sir, he'd impersonated an Eldar outcast, a burn victim banished from his Craftworld in order to track down and assassinate a corsair warlord. I assisted him in destroying the band, they were known as the Void Dragons, sir. For it I was rescued from imprisonment and posted here, away from Grendel. That's the truth, sir."

Gausser and the other officers had listened to me patiently. Gausser rested his chin in his hand and looked at me. "And why were you imprisoned, Corporal?" he said slowly.

My throat tightened, there was no escape. Casting my eyes down to my feet, I said, "I committed a crime back on Grendel, sir."

"And that warranted your imprisonment?"

"Yes, sir," I felt my heart sink.

"What was the charge?"

"I murdered an Imperial citizen." I fought hard not to choke and tear up. Thinking back to the tunnels underneath Norn where I'd stabbed the Planetary Governor's nephew was now gut-wrenching. The youth, scarcely older than me, I could recall vividly. The confusion and shock on his face as he looked at the knife hilt protruding from his chest was sickening. The gurgling cough as he spat up blood rang in my ears, stirring the terrible guilt I harboured.

"Imperial citizens are not the concern of the Imperial Guard, Corporal. Whatever you did during your last tour has no sway on your current deployment – forget it! Unless a warrant is out for your arrest then I suggest you forget it; forget all of it. There are far greater problems stirring over the horizon right now – as well as here. Return to your fireteam."

"Yes, sir."

"I do _not_ wish to butt heads with your company commander again, Larn," Gausser said, his expression stern.

"Yes, sir."

"Neither you nor him are in any way special, always remember that."

"Sir." I pocketed the orders. "Can I just… Captain Kaukasios, sir, ordered my body to be thrown on the wire to deter any other discipline cases."

Gausser sat up sharply. "What did you just say?"

"Sir, Corporal Larn speaks truthfully," Lieutenant Meinerz said quickly, "I overheard Captain Kaukasios order Commissar Kazel to throw Corporal Larn's body on the wire too."

"You were present when the order was given?"

"I was outside, sir. When Commissar Kazel and Corporal Larn left the dugout, I moved away down the trench and observed them."

"With what intention?"

"I would've prevented Commissar Kazel from executing Corporal Larn, sir."

"Commissar Kazel was acting under orders! Kaukasios was at fault, Lieutenant." Gausser rose and pointed at me. "You are a lucky man, Larn. There will be an investigation into this incident _but_ at a later date. For now I wash my hands of the whole thing. Return to your platoons."

"Sir," I snapped to attention.

"Yes, sir," Meinerz did the same and turned to the door. I thanked him when he held it open and followed me out into the falling snow.

"Thank you, sir," I shouted in the Subaltern's ear over the wind.

"Think nothing of it," Meinerz grinned, "just stay away from Kaukasios now!"

"Stay away from Kaukasios – right!" I laughed underneath my scarf I'd tugged up around my face. Both of us pulled our windproofs' hoods up to fight the sudden flurry of snow that was swiftly settling. As we moved through the crowded trenches back to our platoon areas, the rumble of thunder reached our ears.

* * *

 _I am surrounded by cattle_ , Kaukasios thought, turning up the collar of his greatcoat in the face of the wind. The revelation that the insubordinate little corporal had been seeing his mistress had made him livid. The spineless, queer Commissar and his cock-swallowing orderly had only driven the nail in further. Larn still lived, the insolent, filthy, lower-class lout. The ghastly image of him and Kora together made his blood boil.

Returning to his dugout, Kaukasios threw off his greatcoat and helmet, sat himself on a chair and leant back against the earth wall. Before he knew it, a glass of Sacra was in his hand. A tall bottle had appeared on the table beside him, the level of liquid slowly falling as sunk into thought.

He had the Commissar by the balls – that was a fact. There was nought Kazel could do but pander to Kaukasios' every request lest his secrets be revealed; and Kaukasios intended to take full advantage of it. Sipping his drink, he began to plot.

Larn was at the top of the list, along with Scherder. The latter, the hardened veteran, was equally insolent and short on discipline as the young Corporal, yet far more dangerous.

 _It would have to be a case of friendly fire, a freak accident caused by miscommunication. Sergeant Scherder and Corporal Larn would be shot by mistake when returning from patrol – yes, I can feel it coming together!_ Kaukasios smirked, _or maybe a chance encounter with the Commissar! Kazel would claim the Corporal was fleeing the battle out of cowardice. A bolt to the back would solve many of his problems._

Still though, there was the issue of Sergeant Scherder. Kaukasios rubbed his smooth chin and clicked his tongue, _it would be nearly impossible_ _to engineer an accident – he'd see it coming easily._

But maybe an elaborate scheme would not be necessary after all. The enemy might do the job, thereby eliminating those antagonistic to him. _Larn maybe, Scherder not so likely,_ Kaukasios figured. The senior NCO was simply too good to be killed by some ordinary chaos grunts.

 _Patience, patience_ , Kaukasios thought. He had to look after number one first and foremost. If he died on this wretched speck of ice then the Star of Terra would never be his and everything would've been for nothing. He may have been a coward at heart, but if his hand was forced, he would prove that cowards could still be dangerous.

* * *

"How goes it?" Sergeant Scherder poked his head into our bunker. With him was Corporal Antic who held two steaming mugs. Both men had foregone shaving, leaving dark shadows underneath their chins. It seemed too that neither washed as both smelt of armpits and sweaty crotch. It set a firm contrast to the pale-faced, clean-shaven privates with their beautifully short haircuts.

"Quiet," I replied from my seat behind the .30 cal.

"Too quiet." Scherder knelt beside me and surveyed the man-made waste. The fog had rolled back allowing us an unobstructed view ahead of fifty yards. Fifty yards of shell craters, barbed wire and mines mind you. The enemy positions were much deeper into the fog.

"What d'ye mean? It cause we ain't hearin' any guns?"

"Precisely."

It was true that there had been no guns firing for the past two hours. I took it as a possible prelude to an attack though I couldn't be one hundred per cent certain having no real idea how the chaos militia worked, whether they stuck to strict timetables or just had a random rota like the Orks did on Bastille.

"Larn, did you explain to your team the shortcomings of the primer?" Scherder asked.

"Bits and pieces, Sarn't."

"Entrenching tools?"

"In favour of bayonets – yeah."

"You, show me your tool," Scherder said to Antti, "come on, chop-chop."

"Sarn't." Antti handed over his folding spade.

"Ah, now you'll want to sharpen this much more." The NCO ran a finger lightly down the edge of the blade. "With the right sharpness and the correct appliance of force, you can take a man's arm off at the shoulder – like so." Scherder brought the spade down lightly on Antti's shoulder before miming a swipe at his neck. "You can also take the head off," he aimed an upwards swipe at his groin, "and destroy the junk. Either way one good hit in those areas is enough to incapacitate and have your target howling for mother. I want to see nice, razor-sharp blades now – all of you!"

"Right, you 'eard the Sarn't, get those spades sharpened, most ricky-tick," I ordered.

"And you most of all, Larn." A wry grin flitted across Scherder's gaunt features.

"Sarn't…" I held up my own shovel, the edge sharp and shining. " _Non tardabit_."

"None whatsoever," Scherder raised his mug and drank. "Something else," he took the lid off of a case of grenades and expected a fragmentation bomb. "There was an accident a few weeks ago with one of these. You'll want to get some black nasty and wrap it around the body – stops the spool flying off if you lose the pin."

"Right, Sarn't."

"They'll wait till first light."

"Cojen, what are we doing here?" Antic wiped droplets of coffee from his heavy moustache.

"We are… spreading the Imperial culture throughout a desperate galaxy."

"Didn't someone say that war is the highest expression in life for the truly cultured people?"

I smiled discreetly. The team had no clue of what the NCOs were barking about. I knew better, they were subtly trying to lighten the mood with casual small-talk.

"Yes, a foolish wise man named Bernhard Bertolt Brecht."

"Right!"

"Yeah!"

"And Videant said…"

"Videant? Ah – Videant said that war is a continuation of state policy."

"By other means."

"Yes, by other means." Scherder drained his mug and handed it to Antic. "Larn," he beckoned.

Slinging my Lecta, I followed him and Antic out of the bunker, slightly vexed, and fell in behind them.

"Do you ever think about your children, Cojen?" Antic asked, ignoring me.

"Always."

"Where are they?"

Scherder caught a shape hiding in a corner. It was the mute prisoner. "Always," he said. The youth reminded him of his own son, who by now would've been all grown up, unknowing of his father and the mother who gave birth to him.

"I don't know." Scherder stared at the pair of reddened eyes embedded in the dirty face. "I don't know," he said, handing the pair of empty mugs to the boy and patting a hand on his shoulder. "Yet if we did meet again, they would not recognise me. Just another monster in the shadows."

"I'll be down the line." Antic nodded at his friend and walked away.

"Larn my boy, walk with an old man for a moment," Scherder said. "Do you know what the worst thing about all this is?"

"Losing those you care about?" I said without any hesitation. That had to have been the worst thing about it for me. "Names of friends – you can't forget 'em can you?"

"No, you cannot – not _ever!_ " Scherder whispered vehemently. "We all carry them – the memories of those we lost. I can name every man I lost under my command, just like that. Can you name everyone you've lost under you command – can you?"

 _Jussi Rath_.

"Yes," I said flatly.

"I don't hate the killing, the cold or the food – it's the officers I tell you."

"Sarn't?"

"I hate all officers – commissars too."

"I met Colonel Gausser. He didn't seem too bad."

"I hate them as a class, the Gaussers, the Glownas, the Kaukasios' – most of all the Kaukasios'," Scherder hissed, his teeth clenched. "I dream of a day when there are no more glory-hunting, arrogant men like Kaukasios who spend human lives like _currency –_ just to further their standing in Imperial society!"

"They're not all bad though, aren't they, Sarn't? What about Meinerz?"

"He came from the ranks. He knows what it really means to be a soldier – not those that command from the rear. They care nothing for the Privates, the Corporals or the Sergeants – the ones down in the mud and the blood fighting in miserable conditions for a war which we will eventually lose."

There was a long pause.

"Are we gonna lose, Sarn't?" I asked tentatively.

"In a hundred or so years, possibly two hundred. All I know is that men like Kaukasios will continue to sacrifice good men to preserve their worthless hides. They would see the Imperium burnt and bloodied in defeat if it meant they could rule over the ashes."

A lookout standing above us who had his eyes to a trench periscope gave a shout, "hoi, Sarn't – enemy target marker!"

"Back to your position, Corporal," Scherder ordered. He hopped up onto the firestep and took the periscope. A flare had been sent up above the enemy positions marking them for their own artillery. He watched as a second flare was then fired up.

I heard a long, painfully drawn out _wheeee_ lasting a whole twelve seconds that seemed to stretch forever – the nail-biting prelude to an artillery bombardment, the likes of which I hadn't experienced since Broucheroc.

* * *

Hurrying down the trenches, I passed by other company men silently checking magazines, ammunition belts and laying out grenades and reloads. There was little drama in their procedure, no whispered prayers or silent benedictions. Of course this was business as usual – their little slice of Broucheroc.

Scrambling back into our bunker, I reassumed my place behind the .30 cal. "Get ready lads!"

"Uhh, I'm not sure I can do this," Antti clutched his rifle fearfully.

"Alright, c'mon brother – s'alright, I'm here with you." Erkki, in a surprising display of warmth, rubbed his brother's shoulder tenderly and clasped his hand. "We'll do it together."

"Antti, Erkki, Staf, I want ye outside the bunker on the firestep to our left – that's where we're weakest. Take extra grenades and make sure you've got full mags and one in the chamber. Martti, you'll be with me, I need ye to make sure this weapon stays in the fight. You'll be reloading and providing spare barrels if this thing gets too hot."

"I dunno how to change the barrel, Corp," Martti said shaking his head. He too had come down with the shakes. "I c – I can't."

"You can fire this weapon though, right?"

"Uh…"

"S'easy – use ten round bursts and cover yer field of fire best ye can. I'll be right here f'ye need anything. Go on lads, lively now!" I shooed the other three from the bunker.

Raising the stubber's feed cover, I removed the belt and tested the action. A considerate individual must've already been round with a can of hot oil as the bolt rode smooth. Satisfied the weapon was ready to fire, I replaced the belt and pressed the cover down firmly. "Ready to fire. Wanna look down the sights?"

"Alright."

I let Martti sit himself behind the gun. "That's what yer gonna see when yer firing. Make sure ye use the sights and observe the tracers – s'what they're there for. Comfy?"

"Mmm, yeah," Martti grunted.

"Lads?" I poked my head out of the bunker, receiving a blast of icy wind and a faceful of snowflakes. "Keep yer 'eads down."

Staf, the closest, gave thumbs up. Antti and Erkki, standing together glanced up at me.

"Martti, I might 'ave to go outside and give the others a hand for a bit so ye might be on yer own."

"Corp?" Martti paled at the thought of being alone.

"I know – I know." I said reassuringly, tapping Martti to get him to move off the gun. "This yer first time doing this – it's scary, it's frightening, it's pants-shittingly terrifying. Ye feel like yer alone, don't ye?"

"Yes," Martti said quietly.

"So did I."

A long _wheeee_ sounded again, this time it was followed by the distant thundering of field pieces. "Here come the guns!" someone outside shouted. They weren't wrong.

Shells began to fall in no-mans' land, short preludes followed by a sharp _crump_ that hurled huge clods of earth twenty feet into the air.

"Here comes the hell," I murmured, wrapping my left hand around the stubber's handgrip.

The first few dozen shells detonated far from our lines – that was ranging stuff however. Slowly the flashes began to march in our direction, closer and closer, their reports iron-shod boots tramping craters in the frozen mud and hurling it skyward.

"Steady! Hold your fire!"

I heard Scherder's voice, loud even above the cacophony of the shelling which grew in magnitude. One particularly nasty one – to me – grew in pitch as it flew into the ground, spraying mud through the firing slit into the bunker. Martti howled between clenched teeth and cowered. Seizing his collar, I kept him upright. There was no use trying to reassure him, the deafening barrage made it impossible.

I found myself cowering too when the artillery was landing right over our heads. At that point all we heard was the ear-splitting bangs that shook the ground underneath us and dislodged dirt from the ceiling above our heads. Then the shelling began to drop behind us, the noise lessening somewhat. The air now was replaced by the screams of wounded men.

"Cor, that was murderous," I laughed, trying not to sound too shaky. "Y'alright, mate?" I shook Martti by the shoulder gently.

"I don't – I don't think I want to do this anymore." Martti's eyes were wide and fearful.

"Nah mate, we're gonna win this fight," I said confidently. "Antti, Erkki, Staf – sound off!"

"We're alright!" Staf, his face dirtied, picked himself up from the floor of the trench and helped the brothers get back into position.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, fine." Antti and Erkki, also grimy, were unhurt, to my relief.

"Get ready lads, the Perfs are coming!"

"Can't see anything!" Martti shouted, his eye to the .30 cal's sight.

"Ahh, hold yer fire, nothin' to shoot at yet."

"Hold your fire!" Scherder shouted.

"Here they come," I muttered. Through the fog I heard the shrill tooting of trench whistles followed by the collective bellow of hundreds of men, screaming at the top of their lungs, the roar carrying to our ears. They were out there - the enemy - an invisible dark wave of blackened faces and serrated bayonets seeking to roll over us.

"Come on, come on, come on," Martti whispered, frantically licking his lips.

The warcries, spine-chilling screams and hoots sent a chill down my spine like someone had stuck a piece of ice down my collar as a joke. Not seeing the enemy but hearing them coming in our direction was, as I had said, pants-shittingly terrifying. Not even the Orks had instilled such fear in me; or was it because I wasn't going to killing monsters this time but other men?

I heard the praying start when a blast of wind rolled back the fog far enough so that the first wave of militia was revealed. Advancing in a loose line, the enemy were grey-clad blots holding lasguns with sixteen inch bayonets attached. And there was no end to them.

"Too fuckin' many of 'em!" an observant sod cried.

"Steady! Hold it!"

"Fuckers. Can't kill me." I flicked the stubber's safety around to the constant fire position and waited for the order. The militia had cut wide paths through the wire during the night and were using those lanes to advance unobstructed towards us.

"Whadda we waitin' for?" Martti asked.

 _Thirty yards_ , I estimated. It gave us a rough twenty seconds to start firing. What was Scherder waiting for?

"Why aren't we firing?" Martti begged me again.

"They're awfully close, Sarn't!" I screamed, hoping Scherder had heard.

 _Twenty yards_.

"Hold your fire!"

"No, no, no, no, no," Martti's lip quivered, "sorry!"

Before I could reach out and stop him, Martti bolted from the bunker.

"Oi get back here – you'll be shot!" I cast over my shoulder at Martti's back. "Shit!" Grabbing the Lecta as well as my LAR, I charged both and laid them beside me. The former I'd have to use if we were overrun – which was very likely.

 _Ten yards_ – they were too close. I was on my own. I spat out a string of curse-words under my breath, delicately voicing my own opinion of the Imperium, the war and officers in general.

 _The Warp has emptied and all the demons are here for me._

Grasping the Walloon's clacker, I removed the safety and watched the first dozen run past the mines.

 _Now_.

Clenching my hand twice, I ducked as the earth before the bunker erupted in a dark cloud of smoke and flame. All along the line other mines were being popped.

Wide gaps were torn in the enemy's ranks, leaving the bodies of dozens of soldiers, peppered with shrapnel lying contorted, writhing about in pain only to be trampled underfoot by their comrades.

"Shit," I swore, gripping the stubber tightly and resting my finger around the trigger. _What the hell is Scherder doing?_

Five yards, nothing between me and them, but at long last a shout went up, "NOW!"

Squeezing the trigger, I emptied my lungs and let fly.


	18. Chapter 17

07:53/M41/01-40.999/The Frontline/Nemesis Tessera/Nemesis System/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

It was a strange thing to see a human being shot – something I'd only reflect on in later years. The way the impact of the bullet or shrapnel fragment penetrates the layer of skin and muscle, causing, in most cases, a spray of blood from the wound – larger in fact if a through-and-through occurs and the round exits the body, causing far worse damage than where it went in. The mind, then conscious of something terrible occurring goes into a fervent state of denial for a moment before realising that yes indeed there really _is_ something wrong with its host. The mind is then powerless to prevent the body's legs from buckling underneath it and toppling over into the mud to lie there bleeding out before being sucked into the earth. Most odd though was the strangely sexual nature of it, seeing a human so full of life have his body torn and ripped to bloody shreds. There was something morbidly arousing about it, perhaps the smell of the body – worse than the stench of an animal carcass – or the sticky green pallor of the skin once it's been left out in the open for weeks. It had confused me at Broucheroc as I could not understand why a dead body made such a bad smell nor decomposed the way it did – into a ghastly cadaver. But now on Nemtess, I understood. I had achieved enlightenment.

Sitting behind the stubber with my finger clamped down on the trigger, I watched as swathes of militia caught in my field of fire were mowed down by my bursts. Dozens fell – the closest had their torsos ripped from their legs completely by the vicious fusillade of .30 calibre slugs spat out at 650 rounds per minute. Throughout all this I knew only one thing – I was hard.

Howling like a madman, I traversed the gun left and right, directing my fire in an 'S' pattern. The speed of which the enemy fell was so unreal. The ease of it was laughable. If I was a civilian, I would be condemned as a mass-murderer and sentenced to die in prison. But out here at the edge of the Imperium I was allowed to do this – I was allowed to gun down dozens if not hundreds – and I loved it. "DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE YOU BASTARDS!" My arms were fused to the weapon, my fingertips firing red streaks of light that chopped up flesh and sprayed blood across the landscape.

Foreign voices were in my ear. A woman, familiar, screamed in anguish at me to stop. But how could I? I was a born killer.

The numbness stopped when the stubber clicked empty. I asked myself why? Why did it happen? Why ruin the moment?

Breaking open a fresh can, I threw the empty box away and fed a new belt in. I was oblivious to those who had made it through my storm of fire advance past the bunker on my left and right. What happened there didn't concern me. My world was through the horizontal firing slit where I could see too many moving bodies.

Snarling like an animal, I racked the stubber's action furiously and opened up. In the interim between the stubber ceasing fire and my reload, a fresh assault was staged on the bunker. Bayonets were thrust in, the owners trying to prick me to death. One daring Perf managed to toss a smoking grenade inside. Seeing the bomb roll towards me, I snatched it and threw it back out with lightning fast reflexes. To think then was to die. Everything I did, I did out of instinct.

Smoke from the gun's barrel signalled a slowly-warping barrel. In a few moments it would be useless. Shouting myself hoarse, I realised I did not have time to put the asbestos glove on, remove the burnt barrel, replace it and get the .30 cal operational again.

Taking the Lecta in both hands, I pointed it out of the slit and squeezed the trigger. I felt the weapon kick into my shoulder and saw the silent stream of cases fly from the right side of the receiver across my face. Anything that moved in front of me I shot at. I had no idea how the others were doing, it was just me and the unending swarm of militia.

I was alone.

* * *

Lieutenant Colonel Gausser steadied himself and glanced at the ceiling as it shook from the near-misses the CP was receiving. He cursed the militia for attacking so soon whilst the battalion was understrength and low on ammunition. With the departure of the Cadians, the division was spread dangerously thin and in no position to resist an organised assault let alone counterattack to regain lost ground.

"Make sure this reaches headquarters." Gausser handed a written message to his comms operator to transmit in code.

 _Enemy probe commenced at_ _07:51 believed to be prelude to general offensive – food low ammo low understrength –_ _situation critical_

 _Gausser_

The Colonel also ordered a runner to hitch a ride back to Camp Macharius and deliver the same message by hand in case of a mis-comm. Then Gausser contacted Kaukasios as the probe was aimed at his sector.

"This is a probe, Cain Zero Alpha!" Gausser said calmly.

"A probe, sir?" Kaukasios shouted above the noise, burying himself underneath a table as heavy quantities of dust, shaken from the ceiling, filled the dugout. "It's an avalanche! No, sir, it's an attack in force! Counter-fire is needed at once, otherwise we will be destroyed – I need help!" Kaukasios' panicked voice betrayed his fear, something not lost on Colonel Gausser.

"Be calm, Zero-Alpha. You are not alone."

"What do you mean I am not alone, sir? I am alone!" Kaukasios screamed. He'd wedged his head and shoulders between the legs of the table and got himself stuck. All he could see were feet running about his bunker. He had no idea what was happening or where anyone was. "I am alone! I am alone! Two-Zero Alpha is gone, I don't know where One-Zero Alpha is!"

"Then go to your first and second platoon salient sector and find them! Then standby and prepare the counterattack as quickly as possible." Gausser fought hard not to lose his temper with the inept officer.

"Yes, sir! I will be counterattacking, sir!" Kaukasios wriggled out from under the splintered table and got to his feet. His uniform – the one not covered in mud – had received a thick coat of dust. "Hello sir? Hello?" He waited for a reply but Gausser's end had gone silent. "I will be counterattacking," Kaukasios mumbled. "You, fix the vox!" He shouted to the non-com manning his vox. "Where's my weapon?"

"On the wall, sir," Kaukasios' orderly pointed at a lascarbine hanging from a post by its sling.

"Must counterattack immediately," Kaukasios picked up his weapon. "Need to counterattack," though as he said it, he realised that he did not have the slightest clue on how to do so.

* * *

The bodies were piling atop one another in front of the bunker, almost completely obscuring my view of the battlefield. So deep were they that the enemy could no longer make a concerted charge and were forced to wade through and clamber over the bodies of their fallen comrades. One particularly close explosion had torn a big chunk out from the corner of the bunker, opening it up to attack which they did time and time again. Every time they came I beat them back.

I'd lost count of the number of times I was attacked – lost all track of time altogether. When the next face appeared in the blasted-open bunker, I fired my Moses pistol at it, having expended the magazines of my LAR and the Lecta which lay by my feet.

Standing up, I pulled the pin from a grenade and heaved it over the piles of the dead, ducking before it went off. I could see enemy movement behind and amidst the bodies, many of them grievously wounded and screaming in pain. I saw neither stretcher bearers nor medics. The broken enemy, in the process of pulling back to their trenches, had left all their wounded in no-mans' land to die.

"Corporal!"

"Ah!" I spun round and pointed my pistol when I heard a voice behind me. In doing so I accidently jerked the trigger. The Moses luckily did not fire, the reason being it was empty and had locked out of battery.

"You hurt?" Corporal Antic, his face as black as his moustache, held up a hand to me. He was bleeding from a head wound and had a Lecta in his other hand.

"Nah, nah I'm good…" Breathing heavily, I looked down at the Moses.

 _I would've shot him had this thing been loaded!_ I turned away, guilty that the rush of battle had seduced me so easily and ashamed I'd nearly killed one of my own. "How're the lads?"

I slid down into the trench behind Antic and gritted my teeth at the sight of the bodies. Many of them were facing up and bearing brutal wounds to the face and body from where they'd been savaged by trench knives, bats and maces. Blood, flowing through the mud, stuck to the soles of my boots. "Antti? Erkki? Where you at, Staf?"

"Larn – Larn?" Antti, equally dirty and bloodied, hopped off of the firing step down to me, nearly slipping as his foot touched a corpse.

"Whoa, careful mate – s'dangerous up 'ere," I caught him by the arm before he could fall over. "Where's ye brother?"

"Yeah, Larn, up here!" Erkki gave thumbs up from where he'd been standing beside his brother.

"Y'alright?" I couldn't see too well in the smoke but Erkki seemed unhurt.

"Fine, not a scratch."

"Staf?"

"Yup – I'm hungry, is that odd?"

I remembered with a pang – Martti. "Oi, any o' you seen Martti?"

"I think young Martti must've got lost during the fight," Sergeant Scherder said as he moved past Corporal Rauer and his fireteam. Scherder's hand was on Martti Sinric's shoulder. There were tear streaks down Martti's cheeks and he'd lost his cover.

"Mate!" Erkki exclaimed. "Gonna throw the book at ye for that!"

"Shut up!" I snapped.

"Happens to everyone, now find yourself a rifle, son. More will come soon." Scherder paused at Rauer's position. "Get a detail out there and put the wounded down."

"Right, Scherder," Rauer wiped the gore from a spiked club he carried. "Conserve your ammunition, bludgeons and bayonets boys."

"C'mere mate, c'mon," I beckoned to Martti.

"I'm sorry I ran," Martti sobbed. Antti and Erkki stared down at him for a moment in acute derision, earning them a withering glance from me.

"S'alright." I put an arm around him and helped him back up into the destroyed bunker.

"Am I gonna be – be shot? Cause, y'know, I'm a coward?"

"Nah, course not." I sat Martti down beside a half empty box of ammunition and handed him my Lecta and LAR. "Need ye to reload these, alright? Can ye do that?"

"Yeah, yeah I can do that." Martti set to work with the Lecta.

"Showed 'em good, didn't we? All of us?"

"Yeah," Martti looked up at me and smiled weakly.

"We all did." I was determined not to exclude Martti lest it destroy his confidence. Antti and Erkki were beginning to have doubts about him which worried me. If it led to them bullying him about it then I'd need to bring my boot down quickly and harshly.

"Yeah," I glanced at Martti as I removed the stubber's warped barrel and slid a fresh one on. "C'mon mate, dry yer eyes and smile. We beat 'em once, we bloody well do it again, uh?"

"Yeah," Martti wipe his reddened eyes and leant the reloaded LAR against the dirt wall. "How d'you…?" he grunted as he fumbled with the heavy Lecta. His fingers were unfamiliar it.

"Yeah, s'a pig, innit? Pull back the bolt all the way so it locks in place. Ye gotta tug the mag out from the left."

"Yep, uh…" Martti struggled briefly before releasing the bulky drum.

"Grab yerself a spare cover when ye get the chance."

"Yeah, Corp," Martti replied.

"Make sure it's one of ours, not theirs. Don't wanna get yer 'ead shot off by one of us."

"Yeah, Corp."

"Theirs are the ones with the white covers on. Ours have netting; make sense?"

"Yeah, Corp."

I nodded and thrust a fresh magazine into my pistol. Now that Martti was occupied he would be less likely to brood over his 'cowardice' as he put it. I suddenly felt quite protective of the lad, with the problem now being I needed to strike up a careful balance between letting him become acclimatised to frontline combat on his own and helping him along with it. Nursing him too much would do him no good as he needed to find the way himself. I had done so a long time ago, with help from the Vardans of course.

"Corporal!" Lieutenant Meinerz, very grubby yet unwounded, stuck his head into the, now airy, bunker. "Your lot doing alright?"

"Doin' alright, sir," I said confidently.

"Excellent job the both of you. Keep doing what you're doing and you'll be fine."

"'Ow 'bout that? We never saw an officer this far forward at Broucheroc. Ain't ye glad we got him?" It was more than I could say for Kaukasios. He was supposedly the Company Commander though I had yet to see him come even as far forward as the second line of support trenches. Meinerz would be down in the mud and blood with his men sharing the hardships, acting like a proper field grunt. I'd yet to see him in combat but already he'd earned my respect.

"Yeah," Martti said absentmindedly, his gaze fixed on the goings-on in no-mans' land.

Corporal Rauer and his fireteam, covered by lookouts, were moving amongst the piles of wounded men, applying their trench bats and clubs. One caught my eye not because he was crying loudly from the pain but because he was standing up and shuffling around about as if suspended from strings like a puppet would be. His mouth moved up and down as he stared at the piles of bodies surrounding him. Reaching a hand up to his bleeding ears, he felt for any sound but realised he was deaf. Both his eardrums had burst. He seemed to be searching for something amongst the dead.

"God-Emperor…" Martti's face practically cracked when the deafened soldier knelt beside a dead friend and took him into his arms.

I couldn't see the soldier's face, but his body language betrayed his distress. I saw his shoulders rise and fall. It became clear then that he was crying. Even I felt it difficult then not to feel sorry for the enemy grunt caught fighting a pointless war.

Martti did not watch when one of Rauer's men came up behind the grieving soldier and kicked him away from his friend. I found I could not avert my eyes when the soldier, forced onto his front, had head caved in with a spiked bat. It was morbidly disgusting yet aroused my curiosity nonetheless.

"…Shouldn't we be taking them prisoner?" Martti asked, his eyes locked on the rising and falling of the clubs as they connected with bone and smashed in skulls.

"They wouldn't take us prisoner."

"But our wounded…"

"All our wounded are in the trench already being taken back! Only ones out there are enemy." It was harsh but pragmatic. "Least they get a quick death. Better than hearing 'em moan all day and night, crying for their mothers'. Then later when the next attack comes they're gonna get trampled so putting 'em down now's the best way to do it. It's a mercy."

Martti watched a soldier nearby drop his spiked club and haul a wounded man on top of a pile of corpses. The soldier, another one of Rauer's men, wrapped his hands around the neck of the Perf. Martti watched, sickened, as the Perk kicked and struggled as the life was very slowly choked out of him. He was starting to feel sympathy for the enemy now, I guessed. I couldn't blame him. I locked eyes with the savage soldier when he looked up from the pile of dead. A big grin was spreading across his face.

Gripping the stubber, I traversed it to point at him. "Split."

The soldier did not move.

"Y'know me finger might slip and no one would blame me if it did," I said, flicking the weapon's safety off with my thumb.

The grin vanished. The soldier figured I meant business and scooted back to the trench.

"That's every day," I pointed out at the slowly reddening snow, at the men lying in heaps or pieces or draped across the barbed wire. "That's every day."

"They enjoyed it," Martti said quietly.

I could already see the thousand-yard stare beginning on the lad's face. "Some men enjoy it, some too much that it becomes second nature. It's the killers who survive out here."

I remembered a slogan or a motto I'd read on a sign somewhere saying: _If you kill for pleasure you're a sadist, if you kill for money you're a mercenary, if you kill for both you're a guardsman._ It was quite obvious what category Rauer's men came under. I thought it strange at first but now I realised I too had begun to enjoy combat slightly too much. It was an outlet for me to vent all of my energy and frustration with officers, the Imperium and its brutal policies in general because of the callous way it and they had treated me.

"So… we wait for what now?" Martti drummed his fingers on the Lecta's empty drum magazine. The snow, by now, was swirling through the gap in the sandbags, numbing our fingers and faces.

"Eat, rest, reload. I'll break out some compo and heat it up. I want you to go back and find more ammunition for the rifles, Lecta and stubber. Now, get this in yer 'ead, I want green cans marked .338 cal, that's rifle ammo, and as many belts as ye can – the 250 round belts not the 150; they're for the .50 cal. Talk to Scherder about getting more rounds for the Lecta, forty-five I think, doesn't matter if it's loose ammo, ye can hand load it into the drum; make sense?"

"Uhh, yeah, yeah, 338, yeah."

"Alright, look lively!"

* * *

Broucheroc had taught me things I'd never forget. The hard lessons I'd learnt from the Vardans in survival were stashed in the corners of my brain I'd earmarked for later use.

"Thanks Bull, D, Doc," I muttered. "Thanks for teaching me how to survive, I'll never forget you."

What I was doing was punching holes in a used ration can to turn it into a makeshift stove exactly as the Vardans had done. For the heat source I opened up a Walloon and cut out a small chunk of Composition C then lit it with a match. Now that was something the Primer failed to cover – how to light up during rain or snow.

"There we go," I held a can of water underneath the blue flame and waited for it to heat up. "Y'alright, Martti?" I gently swirled the sachet of coffee I'd added to the water.

"Yeah, yeah – cor it's getting cold." Martti had managed to scrounge a couple of cans of ammunition that were quite full by the rattle they made when he set them down between us.

"Oi get that down ye," I handed a canteen of steamy black liquid to Martti then called to the others. "Lads? Got a brew on up 'ere, come and get it."

"Oh cheers, Corp," Antti's eyes lit up at the sight of the brew.

"Want a wet, Staf? Erkki?"

"Mmm, good one," Staf sipped the coffee from his canteen cup gratefully.

"Not gonna have long so grab whatever rifle ammunition ye need from that can," I tapped the rifle ammunition box with my boot. "They're gonna come again."

"When?" Martti asked, slotting fresh cartridges into his empty magazines.

"Fuck should I know?"

"We haven't seen Nathaniel yet, have we?" Erkki craned his neck to see out across the corpse field. "Have we?"

"Nah, he'd stand out from the others easy," I said, reloading my own magazines.

"Never seen a Marine before – ours or theirs, just heard stories," Staf said, rubbing his numb fingers around his mug. "I hear they're s'posed to be ten feet tall and all metal from the waist down. They don't tell us that Marines are only human 'bove the neck cause they don't want us to think we're using machines to do our jobs for us."

"Bollocks, Marines are human, they're just jacked up on combat and muscle enhancement stims – how d'ya think they fit in their armour?" Antti said scornfully. "Can't believe you fell for that!"

"If they're as tough as Scherder says, how do we fight 'em?" Martti asked.

"F'you we're listening you'd have 'eard _Sergeant_ Scherder say that the artillery'll take care of 'em for us," I replied. "Just if ye do see one don't initiate contact cause his bolter'll blow your body off of yer limbs before y'even get off round one."

"And if he shoots at us first?" Staf pointed out.

"You'll be dead," I said bluntly. I was under no illusions of how lethal even one of the power armour-wearing gentlemen would be if our paths crossed and I wanted the rest of the team to know it.

"There's a rosy thought," Erkki remarked dryly.

A sudden cry of, "short round," carried up the line towards us.

"Short round?" Antti looked around in confusion then at his brother for an answer.

"One of ours!" I looked skywards and heard the invisible train coming in on top of our heads.

"LARN, GET OUT OF THE BUNKER," Scherder shouted at me.

"OI, BAIL OUT, BAIL OUT," I dragged Antti and Staf upright and pushed them towards the opening, down into the safety of the trench. Martti and Erkki grabbed their weapons and ammunition and leapt down into the muck after them.

"INCOMING."

We huddled against one another on the trench floor, our hands clasped over our ears. The ground underneath me shook violently as an ear-rending _WHUMP_ sounded above us. A small avalanche of earth was then dumped on our heads. My immediate thought was that one shell had been worse than the enemy's entire bombardment.

"Argh!" I heard Antti's high-pitched voice, lost amongst the scrum of bodies.

 _He's hit!_ I felt a sudden terror and cried shrilly, "MEDIC!"

"Where's he hit?" A medic was there instantly, clambering over the others, holding a medical satchel and syrette.

"Oi give over!" Erkki growled as the medic barged past him and Staf.

"Down there," I rolled Antti over gently. "Where's it hurt mate?"

"Aw, Martti–" Antti groaned.

"Martti you hit?" I shook Martti by the shoulder.

"Sorry, Corp," Martti muttered, wiping a dribble of yellow spittle from the corner of his mouth.

"Martti you bloody girl," Antti grunted. "Look at this," he showed us his flak jacket and the horrible stain down the front. "Bloody sick on me."

"Ye not hit?" I helped Antti upright, brushing him down. I took pains to avoid the little bits of yellow vomit decorating his flak.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry," Martti picked up his cover and sat it back on his head.

"D'ye get the ammo and rifles?" I asked, hoping someone had.

"Yeah got it all," Erkki, diligently, had saved the two ammunition cans as well as the Lecta mag pouch.

"Fuck the ammo, wha' 'bout the brew?" Staf stared at his empty mug.

"Can't get a break can we?"

"Nah – where's the .30 cal?" I scrambled back up towards the bunker. It had received a direct hit and had been well and truly schwacked. All that was left was a mess of sandbags and earth walls lining a wide crater

"Whoa – looks like it's all over the place," Corporal Antic punched me in the shoulder and snorted in amusement, "dodged a 210 there son. You were born lucky."

 _Lucky_.

The nickname granted to me by the Vardans I suddenly remembered – _Vezuchiy_. I had received it after my 'rebirth' out in the wastes beyond Broucheroc. I guess I was lucky.

"The element are regrouping," Scherder said. He was scanning the ridgeline through his field glasses.

With the fog now absent, we would be able to see at the exact moment the enemy crested the ridge and made the gradual descent towards our line.

"Everyone reload. Distribute ammo and whatever grenades you have left. We shan't have long."

"C'mon lads, up on the firestep," I hauled my LAR and an ammunition box up next to my feet. "Same deal as before."

"Sorry 'bout earlier," Martti, standing next to me, whispered.

"S'alright," I grinned. "Take this," I handed a full magazine to Martti. "It'll get easier, I promise."

Scherder paced up and down behind us. "Look to your front. Mark your targets before you fire. You see any Perf with field glasses or a map case, shoot him first."

"Wow, stirring speech," Staf said under his breath.

I laughed softly at Staf's sarcasm. There was no 'for the Emperor' or 'the Emperor protects'. Why should there be? I didn't see him manning our line. He might be in our hearts but he certainly wasn't ready to engage the enemy with us.

Aiming my LAR through a niche in the sandbags, I noticed Martti had neglected to flip up his rifle's sights. Tapping him on the shoulder, I pointed out his error. "Sort yer sights out, two hundred yards."

"Corp," Martti deployed his sight and dialled it back to two hundred yards.

A marker was put up above the enemy trenchline. This was quickly followed by the distant coughing of mortars.

"Incoming!"

I tensed. With the absence of overhead cover there was now a much likelier chance of us getting an incoming right on our heads – this time courtesy of the enemy.

As with before the barrage landed short of our lines, a good fifty yards – closer than the first preliminary bombardment. Steeling myself, I waited for the artillery to begin its foreboding march of smoke and flame towards our lines. However the ranging shots were not followed up, something that struck me as odd; I wasn't sure but something about it tickled me the wrong.

 _What the hell is that?_

A strange cloud of white had arisen from the area the shells had fallen in.

 _White phosphorus?_

A ripple of fear ran through me when the cloud began to drift our way.

"GAS! GAS! GAS!" The shout was echoed up and down the line.

 _Gas?_

* * *

"Masks on boys," Scherder said calmly. "Everyone out of the trench, take cover where you can, eyes forward."

"Where's my mask?" Antti frantically searched about his person for his mask.

"What's this?" I tugged the large pouch hanging on the back of Antti's belt. "Come on, mate, use yer loaf." I adopted a humorous tone, hoping it would at least do something to alleviate the seriousness of the situation and keep the lads' spirits from plummeting.

"Why are we–?" Erkki, as ignorant as we all were on chemical warfare, wondered aloud why we were leaving the safety of our trench. Having no idea then, I simply followed Scherder's orders. The truth was the gas concentrated in holes and remained there for a lot longer than out in the open where it would dissipate much more quickly. Hugging the earth, we pushed paths through the bodies and waited for the gas to roll over us. I couldn't see the big picture but it looked like our platoon and Meinerz's platoon had vacated their positions. I certainly saw Lieutenant Meinerz. Of Kaukasios however there was still no sign.

I should mention just how claustrophobic it was to wear the tight-fitting SR6 mask where all you could hear was you own breathing and those around you. The horribly narrow field of vision the mask's round eyeholes granted and the weight of your cover pressing down on your head, reducing your world to a tiny area around you.

 _Is the filter working? Is the mask on properly? Do I need to cover my skin?_ I thought desperately, my heart hammering.

The bare parts of my skin prickled as the gas closed in. Lying against the earth, I eased my breathing and clutched my rifle close to my body, trying to imagine it was a dark-haired girl, shy but eager.

After what seemed like an eternity, I felt a hand tugging my sleeve. Looking up, I saw a bare face give thumbs up.

"Aw bloody hell," I rasped, gulping down lungful's of air as I removed my cover and mask. "Lads, take yer masks off."

Antti and Staf's faces were pale and sweaty when their masks came off. Erkki and Martti too were perspiring.

"Is it gone?" Martti asked shakily, lifting his head up from behind a pile of dead militia.

"Yeah, we're alright. Y'alright, lads?"

"Yeah."

"Fine, can we get back to the trench now?" Staf hissed.

"As you were!" Scherder said sharply.

"C'mon, s'get back to the trench, what we waitin' round for?" Erkki looked around for anyone to back him up. Everyone else remained rooted however.

Scherder's eyes narrowed. The gas had brought down the visibility, obscuring the ridgeline as the fog had. The order to fall back was on Scherder's lips when a low growl came from the fog. Scanning the murk again, Scherder's blood ran cold on seeing an orange glow.

Just one – no several, five, six! Accompanied by each were dull roars, the sound of liquid fire – promethium.

Flamethrowers.

Scherder's mind raced. Three options lay before him – go back and brave the gas-filled trench, stay where they were, or fix bayonets and try to engage the enemy in hand-to-hand to prevent them from using the flamers.

To stay was to die, to run was to die, to advance into the flamers' range and field of fire was to die. But the one thing the enemy would not expect them to do was charge. It was a reckless, suicidal move, but they had the element of surprise. And they had no choice.

"Fix bayonets," Scherder whispered. "Fix your bayonets. Await my order – no noise!"

"Bayonets lads," the command was passed between us.

I felt for my LAR's eight inch bayonet, drew it from its scabbard then affixed the parkerised steel over the rifle's flash hider giving me a fifty-three inch spear of steel and wood. It would not see much use however, just for the initial charge. Tugging my sharpened entrenching tool from its sheathe, I shoved it in my webbing belt with the blade upwards; that would be my go-to weapon for the melee along with my stub pistol.

"Look at me," I whispered fiercely at Martti. "You follow me lead, do as I do and don't use yer bayonet after ye charge – use this," I indicated my spade.

"Right," Martti tucked his own entrenching tool in his belt, emulating me.

The others had done the same which I noted with approval.

Scherder slowly rose to his feet and gestured with hand signals – a clenched fist pulled downwards twice for speed and caution. We rose as one and advanced into the fog towards the lights which disappeared only to reappear at regular intervals. Holding my rifle with the stock tucked under my arm, I opened the flap of my sidearm's holster and flicked the Moses' safety off.

Around me men moved swiftly in a half-crouch, their rifles, shotguns and automatics held at the ready. I felt the presence of my fireteam on my flanks and at my rear, their own rifles held with the bayonet upwards. A warm wash of excitement flowed over me. We were going to be closing to grips with the enemy in just a few moments. I had no thought of anyone else, just a desire to do what I did best.

We began to jog slowly. The bright glow of the flamers drew closer and still the enemy hadn't seen us. We picked up our pace, now running flat out with bayonets levelled. They had to notice us now.

A collective bellow went up. We drew breath into our lungs and shouted as we'd never shouted before. The scream granted us renewed vigour. I heard, or rather felt myself shouting alongside the Nerians.

Man-sized shapes loomed out of the fog, ghosts armed with terrible weapons who thought themselves the monsters. How they were wrong though. It was we who were the monsters, the terrifying creatures in the night making a noise that would raise the dead.

For the briefest moment I saw two men standing close to one another. The first wore a flame-retardant suit and carried a long, thin tube with a tank on his back. The second, a rifleman, was in the process of pouring a can of fuel into the twin tanks. Neither of them had a chance.

I crashed, bayonet first, into the two-man team, my blade running through the flamethrower operator like a ripe piece of meat and sending him toppling over. I howled like a wild animal as I did this, drawing my rifle back and stabbing again just like I'd been taught in training.

The No.2, caught on the back foot and demoralised at the sudden and brutal execution of his comrade, fumbled with his slung rifle. Leaving my skewered LAR, I pulled out my sidearm and shot the assistant twice in the upper body. At such close range the .45 calibre slugs punched fist-sized holes in the man's flak jacket and killed him instantly.

The battlefield devolved into a swirling melee of buttstocks, bayonets, bludgeons and bare fists as men clashed with men. The few flamers that had managed to get into the fight were quickly overwhelmed, their operators swarmed by the Nerians who quickly and brutally dispatched them, some even with rocks picked up from the ground.

Each time I fired my Moses, a Perf died. At such close range flak jackets and covers were useless weights. Snarling, I finished the pistol's magazine and, forgoing reloading – there was too little time – I dragged out my entrenching tool.

The first Perf I encountered, I dealt a powerful underhand strike with the flat of the blade. Catching it under his chin, the militiaman's head snapped back. Reversing my swing, I slashed downwards and diagonal with the blade outwards, tearing a bloody gouge across the Perf's face, laying it open to reveal bone and muscle underneath.

A glint of steel in the corner of my eye brought me spinning round. Reflexively I raised my hand to protect my face from the incoming bayonet and cried out when the blade passed through the centre of my hand. Behind it a Perf came, his teeth gritted in solid determination.

Rolling with the blade, I drew back my elbow and rammed it into the man's eyes, hearing a loud grunt of shock mixed with anger and pain. The charge had put the Perf off-balance and with the elbow to the eyes disorientating him he slipped over sideways. I fell on top of him and, balling my fist, crashed the side of it into his face again and again. "FUCK! YOU! BASTARD!" I heard another's voice coming from my mouth, shrieking incoherently.

Standing up, I lifted my boot above the semi-conscious Perf and brought it down solidly on his head, fracturing the bone and killing the man outright.

Antti and Erkki – I caught a glimpse of the pair – were working together. Erkki, the bigger of the two, flipped a Perf over his back, delivering him to his brother who smacked the Perf about the head with the stock of his LAR. Staf, using his fists as much as his spade, blocked an overhand strike and swung a quick blow into his opponent's temple before clocking him about the mouth.

"LARN!" I heard Martti cry out in desperation. He was locked in a tight hold with a much bigger Perf. Both were struggling for possession of a trench knife, the blade of which was hovering inches above Martti's face. Without pausing to pick up my spade, I charged at the big Perf weaponless and barrelled into his back, putting all my momentum into it and jumping at the last second. The impact knocked him away from Martti who got ahold of the knuckleduster knife. I fell on my side and into the big man's sights. He spat out a thick globule of blood and snatched up pickaxe before raising it above his head to split my head in two.

Then suddenly I heard a cry, "ARTILLERY!"

The pickaxe-wielding Perf above me disappeared. Invisible hands threw me up into the sky like a ragdoll before flinging me back to the earth and blackness.


	19. Chapter 18

Pre-dawn/M41/01-40.999/Craftworld Ulthanash Shelwé/The Eye of Terror/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

 _James Larn._

Izuru Numerial awoke suddenly. Lifting her head up from her desk, she blinked several times in the absence of light. Her solar was dark, its shutters closed, doorway sealed. What had disturbed her?

 _Lights_ , she commanded.

Tiny, hovering balls of white light – previously dim – illuminated the spacious chamber.

 _Reduce intensity_ , Izuru shielded her eyes from the blinding glare. The spheres, only accustomed to obeying basic commands did not relent by much. It was still too bright.

 _More!_ Izuru snapped. When the glare had reduced to a comfortable level, she removed her hand from her eyes and waited for them to adjust to the light.

Her solar, typical of the higher-end quarters on the Craftworld, compensated for its dark and dreary colours by being brightly-lit, the hovering spheres of which clung to the cavernous ceiling, shining their light downwards onto Izuru's wide, circular desk that occupied a large part of the carpeted floorspace.

Scattered over the tabletop were data disks, inserts, hard documents, all sorts of information that, infuriatingly, did not provide an answer to her questions.

Casting her gaze across the mess from the previous night, Izuru stood up and smoothed her jet black robes, trying to undo the crumpling they'd received from the hunched-over position in which she'd slept in. The attire had been a gift to her by her mentor, Chief Farseer Eldrad Ulthran upon her arrival with her offspring. She'd accepted them in gratitude for the Craftworld's continuous hospitality but aside from that she hadn't taken to them especially, preferring – longing – for the familiar, practical and comfortable cameleoline robes she'd worn during her operation on Grendel.

Grendel had been a turning point in her life. What had happened, everything she'd done, everything she'd lost returned to haunt her.

Pulling back her robes, Izuru moved away from her desk and angled her side so the bare skin caught the light showing the ugly mark where the knife had plunged deep into her body; her own knife. Though it had healed fast the memory of the sharp finger of steel piercing her flesh would never leave her. It hurt her often when she was alone at night.

 _Reflection_ , Izuru ordered a smooth, water-like substance set in the wall to transform into the shape of a tall mirror.

Grendel had left its mark, as well as on her body, on her face. Leaning forwards, Izuru examined the scar lines criss-crossing her cheeks and the damage her right eye had sustained. The pupil was permanently dilated now – the late Princess Saarania responsible for that – setting a firm contrast to her undamaged eye which was its normal size. Nothing short of a new eye would repair it though Izuru did not want the healers tampering with her body, knowing that it was different than most.

Reaching up to her head, Izuru felt the absence of the thick, wavy mane she'd once proudly worn. As a gesture of defiance to the brutal Void Dragons as well as her own people condemning her for her heritage, Izuru had hacked it all off, giving her an almost masculine look which she'd completed by daubing fierce red warpaint on her cheeks and brow in preparation for the final assault on the Void Dragons.

The name James Larn came to her again. She recognised it instantly as the name of the young human soldier who, once, had been a vicious adversary of hers due to the execution of his commanding officer, an act she'd been compelled to carry out by the, now late, Princess Saarania on Platis V. The human officer's name was Doron, Larn had told her so. What she also recalled was her apologising sincerely to the young man and meaning it. The guilt she carried over it was still with her, as was the selfish decision to abandon Larn to the Void Dragons when she came to rescue her children. It was an ironic moment, valuing her species above all, even when her human allies were in peril. Then she had felt more Eldar than ever before, yet afterwards she'd been plagued by such guilt at doing what she had previously thought was right. It turned out that abandoning the human had hurt her in the long run.

 _I didn't expect him to survive, but he did_ , _he came back_. _He came back and he saved my life._

A life debt was not something Craftworld Eldar took lightly. It did not matter whether her saviour was human and an enemy of her people, after all she too – in part – was human, or so she had previously thought. What was important above all was the debt and hers was still unpaid; in her mind at least.

Izuru retired from the mirror. The material, sensing the entity turn away, rippled back to its previous form leaving not a mark in the wall.

 _All of what I am is a lie,_ Izuru thought bitterly, shoving back the clutter on the desk and resting her chin in her hands. In idle moments, there were many for her as the children were nearly always partaking in their education to prepare them for the eventual choosing of the path, she'd taken to brooding over her parentage. It had been the cause of her banishment from her home, Craftworld Alaitoc, where society was strict and rigidly unaccommodating for a half-breed. Ulthwé, whilst being more tolerant of such a product, still hurled the occasional insult at her. The words were sharp and usually hissed at her when not in public. What was worse was that they were in the ancient tongue of Ulthwé, a second language not commonly spoken but widespread enough for it not to be considered a dead tongue.

" _Go'une koydugum, Insan!_ "

Izuru had politely ignored the insults and had remained aloof though deep down it made her burn with shame. The fact that she could blush, something a pureblood was incapable of only drove the knife deeper. The identity crisis she was having caused her to shut herself away from society. During the long periods of isolation, Izuru sought to gather up every single scrap of knowledge on the genetic differences between humans and Eldar. Very soon it became her obsession.

 _Did my father really produce me with a human female?_ Izuru wondered. Poring over ancient documents it soon became clear that such a coupling was impossible. The Eldar as a species were simply incompatible with the human race, despite outward similarities. But if so then what was she?

 _What am I? What am I? WHAT AM I?_

Seven blank sheets of paper Izuru absent-mindedly filled with the same question before she realised what she'd done. It had shaken her and made her start to doubt her state of mind.

Stepping back she clasped her hands together over her nose and sighed. Her migraines, occurring frequently, began to trouble her once more. It was like someone had sawn the top of her head off, filled the inside space with stones and shaken it violently.

Cursing quietly, Izuru went over to a high shelf and brought down her medication that was hidden behind stacks of ancient tones. The supply of bone coloured pills – moderate painkillers – was dwindling. It would mean a journey down to the commerce guilds not far from the Warp portal that lead to the great port of Calmainoc, one that Izuru would've rather not partaken alone.

 _Viewport, normal view_.

The command was directed at the wide, curving screen on the upper level of her chamber, the platform of which overlooked the main floor and was accessed by a simple gravity lift.

As always, Izuru, forgoing the quick and easy method, instead used a simple ladder as means of ascension. It was one of the few occasions where she could use her muscles – aside from her daily exercises that were compulsory on Ulthwé – though it wasn't like she was out of shape. The mere thought of growing soft and weak reviled her. It was a passion of hers, keeping her body and mind finely honed to a razor-sharp edge. But despite her borderline obsessive, self-imposed conditioning, Izuru could not shake the feeling that she was no longer pathfinder grade or even – shockingly for her – ranger material. Her scarring, physical and psychological, combined with the long and painful pregnancy cycle she'd gone through giving birth to the twins, had permanently affected her combat efficiency and ruined any chances she'd had at earning the title of Pathfinder. She'd come close during her youth, but she never made it. It was a fact that still irked her, even after losing her arrogance after the events on Grendel; the fact that she was no longer the best.

Eldar lived for thousands of years; fact. She was – in human years – not even thirty – yet felt exhausted, burnt out and useless where she was.

 _Viewport, normal view_ , she repeated on striding past her unmade bed and up to the screen. As commanded, it morphed – rippling smoothly – into the dark hue of space.

From her quarters Izuru could see down across the wide, tiered plane of the Craftworld which housed the entirety of Ulthwé's population – a small planet's worth of people. Unlike most she had the luxury of being able to look out, not only across the moon-sized vessel's landscape, but into the majestic reaches of space and the equally beautiful and ghastly pink swirl that was the Eye of Terror.

 _Such arrogance_ , _refusing to acknowledge that it was our doing,_ Izuru smiled mirthlessly to herself. She had yet to meet a single Eldar who wilfully admitted that the gargantuan Warp storm intersecting with realspace was of their doing, except of course, Eldrad Ulthran.

 _Your mind wanders, Izuru._

The presence of her mentor's consciousness lifted Izuru's spirits. Ulthran's mind, everywhere on the Craftworld, she felt hovering on the outskirts of her own mind. She accepted it and immediately felt its calming influence wash over her, settling her anxiety.

 _My spirit is restless, Ulthranwé_ , she made the sign of Ulthwé.

 _What troubles you?_

 _Am I permitted to speak candidly?_

 _Always,_ Ulthran said warmly. He had no children of his own, something he'd always regretted. Izuru was like a daughter to him though he would never admit it openly to her or to anyone. The affection was mutual.

Izuru, despite having grown to regard the Farseer as a father figure still cherished the memory of her real father. Amonther Numerial's disappearance had had a profound effect on her and along with her expulsion from Craftworld Alaitoc – and the tragedy she'd endured – it had dragged her combat efficiency down. Depression had set in as well as a hard, insatiable anger against her own for everything they'd done to her. Eldrad Ulthran's calm, patient mentorship – therapy – helped to calm her temperament, earning Izuru's undying gratitude in the process.

 _Mind and body are without purpose. I seek an outlet._

 _The council is convening, I would have you attend, child._

 _To what purpose would I serve, attending a council meeting?_ Izuru asked, vexed as to why she should be privy to the high council's dealings. Her political standing in Ulthwé's society was far too modest to permit her an audience with the Council.

 _I shall shortly be declaring a state of emergency_. _We will shortly be at war._

 _What? Why? I don't understand, Ulthranwé._

 _I await you in the Farseer council chambers._

Izuru felt Ulthran's consciousness withdraw from her mind. An invitation from the Farseer's council implied that something serious was afoot. Either way it would do her no good to pass up the chance of learning of the goings-on in the galaxy.

Hastily setting her robes straight, Izuru checked she was presentable in the mirror and departed her solar for the council chambers.

* * *

Booming, authoritative voices, unused to being talked over, filled Ulthwé's upper council chambers with chatter. The thirty-four members present out of the normal sixty easily made up the absent number of seats in sheer noise alone.

 _Is this how the Elders act, like adolescents, with wanton disregard for their chief?_ Izuru shook her head subtly. Her first impression of the Farseer Council was not a positive one. Standing in the shadows behind the curved row of seats – she had not been permitted to sit – Izuru listened to the various groups of Elders argue loudly. Out of the corner of her eye, Ulthran, before preoccupied with a subordinate, now moved to call the meeting into effect.

Chief Farseer Eldrad Ulthran stood nearly eight feet tall. Not the tallest Eldar in history but among the most imposing, even moreso holding the ancient Staff of Ulthamar in his hand. He was clad in rich, flowing robes of the deepest crimson and wore jewel incrusted shoulder pauldrons. A thick, fur-lined cape, also red, hung suspended by a chain around his neck. A white sash decorated with ancient runes was draped over his shoulders, falling to down below his waist. The aura he commanded was immense. Banging the butt of his staff on the smooth stone floor, Ulthran stepped onto a slightly raised dais that extended out into the centre of the semi-circular seating and shouted for quiet.

As the noise drained away, Ulthran made a subtle gesture with his left hand, dimming the natural lights that were set into tiny holes in the walls. Simultaneously he raised a bone-thin holographic projector from the floor.

 _What is that?_ Izuru stared at a blue holographic image of a starship, a very large one, taller than even Ulthran. It was shaped like the eight-pointed chaos star and had a pyramid mounted dorsally and ventrally on its superstructure.

"A Blackstone Fortress has appeared from the Immaterium," Ulthran said gravely. He was not one to mince words and judging from his foreboding tone and dark expression, this was a very serious matter indeed.

Izuru's heart jumped into her throat. Blackstone Fortresses were ancient superweapons once owned by the Old Ones. Nearly all were thought destroyed in the eons of conflict occurring after the calamitous war between the Old Ones and the C'tan. From stories heard, Izuru knew their offensive and defensive capabilities far eclipsed anything the Eldar had in their arsenal. Truly, it seemed there was no greater threat to their people.

Ulthran paused, letting his words convey the gravity of the situation before continuing. "The Blackstone Fortress flies the flag of Chaos and occupies the vanguard of a host of warships the likes of which has never been seen before."

Excited chatter began to break out. A host of warships? How many? What is their destination?

Ulthran raised a hand to calm the sudden rush of voices, all asking questions, "what we know is the Blackstone and the hardpoint of the thrust is directed towards Cadia. Once the wave has washed over it, the Chaos host will be free to spread its tendrils out into the galaxy, threatening, not just our people, but every living being in existence."

The Blackstone abruptly vanished and was replaced with a map of the Eye of Terror and surrounding systems. The predicted route of the enemy was shown, directed along the tight Warp corridor towards Cadia.

Ulthran paced about, his voice rising, "there is an evil presence aboard that fortress, one we cannot ignore. Ulthanash Shelwé will stand at the Cadian gate but not on its own. It is my decision to form a truce with the humans–"

"NEVER!" Elders rose, shaking their fists and bawling curse words. "DEATH BEFORE WE EVER FIGHT ALONGSIDE THE PREY!"

Izuru, remaining silent, seethed at the stubborn arrogance of the council.

 _Listen to the Chief Farseer! Only united will we stand a chance against the forces of Chaos._

"—One that has not been seen since the Gothic War! Do you not remember? 839 standard years have passed – but a heartbeat for us!" Ulthran stepped over to a congregation of Elders who were talking in low tones. "Raesern Idranel, I counted _you_ amongst those that fought in the Gothic Sector, spilling blood in the name of Ulthwé." Turning away, Ulthran gestured at another group of elders. "Elscarn Caerys, your brother laid down his _life_ for you fighting the enemy and yet you refuse to honour his legacy!"

Izuru felt the hairs on her arms rise as Ulthran's powerful rhetoric seized the council's attention. It was a stirring sight watching him sway the doubtful and persuade those unsure to his cause.

"We fought, we bled, we _died_ so that our race – our _family_ – endured. And though it pains me to say it, we did not do it alone. The humans fought side by side with us for twenty years; twenty long years of bloodshed that saw us united in a common goal. Again I am loathe to admit – and some may call me fool for this – but together our combined forces halted the Despoiler in his tracks and sent him scurrying back into the Warp with his tail between his legs. So once more, I ask of you – the Council of Elders – to support me in the upcoming campaign."

"What is our plan of action, Farseer?" An Elder cried.

Ulthran indicated the map, "our home lies to the galactic north-east of Cadia. That is our ultimate destination. We will forge links between worlds on the journey to Cadia, using them as staging areas and bases for supply. The first, Nemesis Tessera, the outer and home fleets shall marshal at. It is a remote ice world ideal for making the jump to the Belis Corona sub-sector where we can deploy into formation, ready for the final march to Cadia."

"What of the Black Guardians? The Banshees? The Harlequins? Are they all to be mobilised?"

Ulthran nodded, "every last warrior must do his and her duty. Be they Guardian, Banshee, Farseer, Autarch or Avatar. My brothers and sisters, today we go to war!"

"But what of the humans, Farseer? The presence of such a force in their territory will no doubt be a cause for concern. Are we to make ourselves known at the earliest possible moment?"

"Indeed, Idranel, we reveal our presence and intention to the humans as quickly as we can. There is to be no aggression against them from here on. Until the evil within the Blackstone is nothing but memories and the Chaos hordes' broken in defeat, they are our allies and shall remain so."

"We would not speak with them, they are savage warmongers fit for only for the sword!"

"To consort with a human is to commit the greatest sin!"

Ulthran's fingers, wrapped around his staff were bone white, "unless we communicate with the humans then there will be no truce. Will none of you stand?" With fierce eyes he surveyed the Council, the blue glow of the map reflected in his lined face. "Will you not answer your Farseer's call?"

The chamber, for once was silent. Not a single Elder spoke.

"No matter, for if none of you will stand for us then I shall be compelled to choose a candidate from amongst your ranks." Ulthran's finger travelled around, hovering over faces before continuing onwards. "I choose not a council member, but one who walked amongst the humans, one who is well-versed in their society and customs; who knows their hopes, their desires, and their fears."

The Chief Farseer pointed behind the gathered Council at the one who'd gone completely unnoticed. "I choose you," he said softly.

Izuru gasped. Her throat tightened. Down in her breast, her heart began to flutter. Each and every member of the High Council had turned their attention to her.

Ulthran's voice rang throughout the chamber, "Izuru Numerial shall be our human ambassador!"

* * *

 _The falling_ _snow turned to rain, the torrential downpour washing across the barren ground, splashing up my legs. I stood up to my ankles in filthy water with my head bowed gazing down at the pair of bloodied gloves I wore. My heartbeat thudded slowly in my ears._

 _Raising my head, I saw through the rainfall rows of wide wooden benches set before a stone altar draped with a cloth. My legs began to drag me down the aisle despite protests from my addled mind, past the rows of bare seats, drawing closer and closer to the altar with each ponderous, measured step until my water-logged boots found the raised stone platform._

 _My clothes were sodden, water dripped down my hair and off the end of my nose. Everything was soaked through. An Imperial aquila was sitting on the red cloth that was spread across the altar. It was dry._

 _A foreign presence brushed my hand. Beside me appeared a woman in dark robes who had a hood drawn up over her head. She turned to face me._

 _Izuru._

 _Questions ran from my mouth but were muffled and made no sound. Izuru's eyes were sad as she took hold of my hands._

" _In the name of His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor of Mankind–"_

 _The sight of a seven foot tall Ork with a bag of big green feet hung around his neck, standing behind the altar wearing a purple Imperial sash and reading – in a human voice – from a thick, hard-covered book, stole my attention._

"— _I pronounce you husband and wife."_

 _My heartbeat quickened, quickly growing louder and louder in my ears until the blood pounded like a war drum. Suddenly the benches were filled with people. My eyes passed across the still and silent congregation, confused and frightened._

 _I knew them all._

 _The Jumael's, the 199 dead from Fox Company took up most of the seats. They far outnumbered the other parties. Occupying the front row were beings, human or otherwise, which I had known. Doron, Drow, Saeros, Risto, Corby, Jussi, all were staring at me with shiny black eyeballs. Their noses were running with blood, their ears too._

" _You may kiss your bride," the Ork said, closing the book with his massive paws._

 _I looked down at my hands and watched blood seep from between my fingers and run up Izuru's wrists, her arms, across her shoulders and all the way up to her face. Tilting her head back, she opened her mouth and let the rain enter._

 _A blaring horn, unlike any I'd ever heard, tore my gaze from Izuru. Above me in the sky, the nightmarish shape of the space hulk had appeared through a gap in the clouds. The hideous amalgamation of ship parts mashed together amongst asteroids made my blood freeze._

 _The nerve-jangling horn repeated. Searchlights were cast down to the ground, trapping me in its gaze. Dark voices laughed in my ear as an invisible force took me and spirited me up towards the shining light._

 _Izuru wept blood._

* * *

A narrow beam of light penetrated my eyelid.

"Look at me," a soft voice, muffled, said.

My pupil narrowed to a slit as it adjusted. A hand was shining a torch beam down into my eye.

"Now follow the light with your eyes," the voice, female and unnatural said gently.

Obediently I followed the moving beam.

"Very good, that's it. Now look at me again."

A blurred face was floating over me. "My feet," I mumbled.

"What about your feet?"

"They're bursting out of my shoes."

"You're not wearing any shoes, rest now."

"No…" I felt a needle prick my arm and a deep fatigue engulf me.

I awoke in a hospital ward tucked up under clean sheets on a soft bed with pillow and mattress. The first thing I saw was an Imperial aquila mounted above my head with a plaque nailed beneath it saying, _the Emperor watches over you_.

 _Where am I?_ I squinted about the ward at other patients lying in beds, _Camp Mackie?_

Window set in the opposite wall quickly debunked that as outside there was not snow but rain and it was far too cold on Nemtess for it to rain.

Great quantities of water lashed against the windows. Beyond it were many lights in the distance, suggesting a city.

 _What the hell am I doing here? I must get back to the platoon._

Determinedly I cast back the sheets and swung my feet onto the cold floor, at the same time wondering where my uniform and weapon was and just why I was wearing awful blue pyjamas decorated with little printed aquilas. A bandage, thickly dressed was wrapped around my head as well as my left hand.

"Soldier? Soldier? Where do you think you're going?" the nurse from before appeared out of nowhere.

I stopped and looked up at her barring my way. She was taller than me – most people were – and had very violet eyes. By the look on her angelic face she was adamant I wasn't to leave under any circumstances.

"Can't stay here, I gotta get back to my company. S'cuse me," I protested, trying to step around her.

"Listen, soldier, you've been concussed severely, you must rest."

Not taking no for an answer, the nurse guided me back to bed.

Her name was Helena, I learned that the next day she came round. As she glided up the aisle of beds I noticed the brightness of her blonde hair. The heads of the sick and wounded twisted to greet her. She paused briefly at each of the beds, calling the men by name, asking silly little questions, and deftly parrying their feeble attempts at banter and impudence.

When she reached my bed, I had my mental defences up. She ignored my cold stare and spoke in an eager whisper, as if fearful of disturbing the patients next to me.

"Well, you look better this morning."

"I feel better."

"Emperor, you were dirt and blood from head to toe when brought in. You really have been in the wars. I helped clean you up and I wasn't even on duty. Say, thank you, nurse."

"Thank you, nurse. The plumbing broke down up in the lines."

"Now, now," she touched my wrist and glanced at me with anxious eyes. "Your pulse is pounding, what's wrong?"

"I don't know goddammit. You're the nurse."

"Oh now, you really shouldn't use his name in vain like that."

"Eh, whose name?"

"The almighty," Helena whispered.

"Oh, oh yeah, yeah, sorry for the swearing."

"Don't apologise, you should hear me when I get worked up. It's the crying I can't stand."

I glanced at the patients in nearby beds, "do they cry?"

"Some of them. Their nerves fold up, they can't help it."

"What do they cry about?"

"Most of them don't know. They just get on weeping jags like some drunks do."

"They'll never make me cry," again for that matter. I was done crying like a child.

"Who?"

"Anybody. I'm not the crying kind."

"I'll bet you aren't. We were discussing your age last night. How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"You look younger"

"I can't help that. I'm nineteen, I wanted to play soldier."

"And now you've had enough."

"I've had a bellyful."

"But you wouldn't quit if you had the chance."

"No, not now."

"Why not now?"

"Used to want to but now maybe I feel – wait what ye asking all these questions for? I've got me own questions. I wanna know where I am first!"

"You're on Haven," Helena said, "you've been her nearly a week."

"Where's Haven?" I hadn't the slightest clue where Haven was.

"A four day jump from Agripinaa."

That meant nothing to me though the name Agripinaa did nothing to alleviate my concern.

"I honestly couldn't believe how dirty you lot get up there," Helena leant over and straightened my pillow. "At least you could've taken a whore's bath."

Undisturbed by the surprise that leapt onto my face, she continued, "yes, a whore's bath. We call them that too."

"Just cold water and a helmet?"

"And a little soap."

"Ye try it a first then ye give up and let the mud take over."

A smile danced in her eyes. "What were you saying about not wanting to quit now?"

"Err, I used to want out of, everything… but now, now I've got a fireteam to take care of I kinda feel a responsibility for 'em and as long as there's a man in the lines, maybe I feel it's my place up there beside him."

"Is that all?"

"S'all I can think of."

Helena handed me a glass of bitter medicine. I held my nose and swallowed it.

"Eurgh," I grimaced at the foul taste. "Ye gonna leave me alone now?"

"You're too tense. Many men would kill to be in a place like you."

"Funny, I'd kill to be back in the place I was."

"I don't know. There are many who prefer it here – female company I mean. Do you prefer it up there in the trenches, where there are only men?"

"I dunno, I just don't think about women while I'm up there really."

"Hmm, perhaps you need a back rub to loosen those muscles. Tell you what I'll do. If you'll be a nice boy, I'll give you a rub when I get off duty."

"Don't knock yerself out."

When Helena passed to the next cot, I closed my eyes but the vision of her face still waltzed through my mind. The nose was bent slightly; the mouth was large and sensual, but drooped, as if from sadness, about the corners. Her skin was as fair as apple blossoms.

As the hours sifted by, I slept fretfully and wondered if she would return. If I had known how, I would've been more pleasant.

At dusk – I could tell it was dusk by the pink glow of the sun, setting over the rooftops of Haven's giant port-city – I heard her brisk voice as she moved up through the line of cots. My blood quickened yet I hastily assumed a mask of surly indifference; all the defence I had.

"Hello, young man. Did I take a ribbing? The girls found out."

"Found out what?"

"That I'd decided to give you a rub."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, except we save it for out specials."

"Your special whats?"

"Our special interests."

"Don't knock yerself out."

"You said that before."

"Didn't ask ye to do it."

"Of course you didn't. Now will you try to relax? I'm tired and don't feel like fighting with you."

"Then why don't ye go to bed?"

"It would do me no good. I get so tired that I could collapse. But I can't sleep anymore."

"Yeah, I know what ye mean."

Her skilful fingers pried into the muscles of my back, causing shivers to prowl up and down my spine.

"You got a newspaper round 'ere?"

"I could fetch one for you if you must."

"Thanks."

The copy of the Imperator Victrix was four days old but for once I was able to get a grasp of the big picture. The snippet I'd heard over the vox back at Mackie had been a corp-sized mutiny by a – previously thought to be loyal – unit of mechanised infantry, the Volscani Cataphracts. They'd turned up to parade in front of Cadia's governor and his retinue only to declare their loyalty to chaos, an underhand tactic only the enemy were capable of so the paper said. The report was actually very vague in describing the casualties. All it said was that elements of eighth and seventh Cadian Infantry had rallied around a lowly regimental commander named Creed and proceeded to turn the tide of the battle in their favour and rout the traitors, slaughtering the vast majority whilst marching in paradeground formation and singing benedictions to the Emperor. I had to re-read the last part several times. The words 'paradeground' and 'singing' coupled with 'resounding victory' just did not make any sense. What else was missing were the casualties our side had sustained, or for that matter the fate of Cadia's governor. The report ended on an upbeat note that this Creed, whoever he was, had been promoted to Lieutenant General, awarded the title 'The Lord Castellan of Cadia' and was expected to take command of Cadia's defences in preparation for the upcoming invasion.

 _Is this what the Imperium expects the people to swallow?_ I wondered. It was like a dirty cock being waved at an unwilling mouth before being aggressively thrust down into the throat.

Relegated to the third and fifth pages were smaller reports of increasing chaos activity further into the Eye of Terror. Plagues, terror raids, piracy, you name it, all were similarly vague, lacking solid facts. I notice a tiny column stating there had been a reduction in raids by Eldar near the back of the newspaper. It sounded like the scattered Corsairs, in losing their figurehead, had lost the will to fight. I smiled at that. Izuru, with a little help from me and a few others, was responsible. In my eyes she was a hero and deserved a safe retirement away from the danger to live with her children. Finally Veen's words had taken some shape. If what I was reading was true, which coming from the contents of the other articles seemed unlikely, then we had done some good.

* * *

Across from the hospital, high up in a dusty attic, a pair of eyes watched the ward through a variable magnification scope. The soldier, lying on his front, was reading a newspaper whilst being attended to by a nurse, the latter providing a backrub for the former.

Reaching for a vox transmitter, the observer switched it on for the hourly report he was due to give. "OP1, target is remaining stationary, no new developments, out," he clicked off without waiting for a reply. None would be given.

Standing up and stretching, the observer checked his watch and counted the number of hours he had until changeover.

* * *

Watching the ward from a different angle – one that looked down it lengthways, another observer had her eyes on the soldier. The woman knew him by sight, having occupied a bunk across from him on the voyage to Agripinaa. She also knew of the others keeping tabs on him. Who would get to him first was another matter entirely.

"Movement? Is he still in the same spot he was before?" a voice, mechanically altered, sounded in her ear.

"No, he's still there," the woman replied softly. She noted, with amusement, a nurse rubbing his bare back. "Looks to be getting on alright."

"Make sure he does not leave the premises."

Smiling to herself, the woman acknowledged and clicked off.


	20. Chapter 19

M41/01-40.999/Craftworld Ulthanash Shelwé/The Eye of Terror/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

The announcement that a non-council member would act as emissary to the humans provoked an uproar. Arguments flared up and once more the chamber dissolved into shouting.

 _Like children_ , Izuru shook her head in derision, disappointed at the amount of squabbling between, whom she had thought, were the more mature adults of the Craftworld.

Eldrad Ulthran stood in the centre of it all, a scowl on his face.

"Ulthranwé?" Izuru fought through the Elders clustered about and over to where the Chief Farseer stood. "Ulthranwé?"

"Izuru," Ulthran extended a hand to her and helped her up onto the dais. "You seek counsel?"

"Yes," Izuru glanced down at the other council members, several of whom were eying her. "You – you honour me, Ulthranwé," she struggled to find suitable words. _Can I have a moment?_

 _Just one moment,_ Ulthran agreed.

 _Gratitude_ , Izuru smiled gratefully and followed the Farseer to an antechamber out of sight of the Elders.

 _I do not mean to question your wisdom, Ulthranwé…_

 _Yet you do so now. Speak your mind._

 _A pureblood – a Farseer – would better represent our people. I am afraid I am not worthy of what you command. There are better beings than me, purer, nobler. I am nothing but a half-breed, an outcast banished from my home and forced to wander. Even now, after your grace in sheltering me, I still feel like an outsider._

Ulthran, in a rare display of open affection, laid his hands on Izuru's shoulders and smiled warmly. _You have two children sired by a pureblood father. You are one of us. Take heart, child. They will grow up loved and cherished, as all younglings are._

Izuru flushed with pride, _gratitude_ , _Ulthranwé_.

 _Know that I place great trust in you, child. This is a noble undertaking, one that requires tact, patience and empathy; qualities few of us possess. I would not send you unless I had full confidence in your ability as a negotiator. Your dealings with the humans on Grendel have endowed you with knowledge and granted a deeper understanding into the human psyche than any on the Farseer council._

Ulthran clasped his large hands around Izuru's and raised them up to breast height. _You are one of a kind, both Eldar and human in equal measure. I know of no other like you._

 _I am not what you think I am, Ulthranwé,_ Izuru blurted. _In study I have discovered the_ _impossibility of a union between us and the humans. It simply cannot be—_

 _You are the daughter I never had._ Ulthran, cutting in, halted Izuru in her tracks. What he just said made her forget any doubt she had on her origins.

 _You are the daughter I never had._

The words made her feel dizzy. Bowing her head, Izuru felt throat tighten and her eyes begin to moisten. To place such trust in her…

 _I am without tongue, Ulthranwé._

 _Look at me,_ Ulthran tipped her head up gently. _I know the anger you harbour over_ _your expulsion from Alaitoc; and Ellorias. Truly there is no greater crime than to separate two lovers prematurely. I ask you now, Izuru Numerial, will you serve your people? I give you my word that in time, when I am gone, they will serve you._

Looking into Ulthran's eyes, Izuru blinked back tears that threatened to pour down her cheeks.

 _Yes_.

* * *

 ** _Haven..._**

The comfortable bed I'd been confined to stirred restless thoughts. It was late, very late and I was not in the least bit fatigued; my body was wide awake.

Outside, rain, yet again, battered the windowpanes. The lights of Haven blinked in the distance. On clear days – only one during the few I'd been awake – I was able to see down the hillside and across to the city. It was built on the edge of a dizzyingly high waterfall – on top of and around it for that matter – with much of the water running underneath the streets and through wide canals all leading out to the drop. Haven's great spaceport was comprised of not quite two dozen platforms stretching out over the abyss, spaced out in an arc. The depth of the docks was perfect for berthing particularly low-keeled vessels which came and went frequently if the moving lights in the sky were anything to go by. I would've liked to have gone down to the town and see it for myself had I not been strictly confined to bed.

 _This is rubbish, I feel fine,_ I kept repeating in my head. Aside from a slight dizziness and a numbness in my left hand from where the bayonet had gone in, there was nothing else keeping me in that bed.

 _Nah, no good_ , I sat upright and put my feet on the floor. Holding them for a second, I felt the coldness of the stone on my bare feet. I wiggled my toes a few times and stood up and moved through the silent ward.

The few patients present were sleeping soundly or snoring. I envied them, being able to rest easy and not have their dreams overrun by dark thoughts. Every time I closed my eyes I found myself spirited back to Broucheroc to relive the horrors of the trenches. Sometimes it was Platis, with the Void Dragons, or Grendel with the fear of the death cult and the slaughtering of civilians dogging my dreams. Every time I awoke sweating and shaking, clawing at the bedsheets and bunching them up in my hands, thinking the Orks or the Corsairs or the Ordo Hereticus was coming for me in my bed.

The lights were out. This was not an uncommon occurrence on Haven, the frequent storms being responsible most of the time. Outside thunder rumbled, the occasional flash illuminating the sky. Hearing the rain outside was some comfort as I did have a roof over my head and did not have to worry about shelling or gas or any infernal flamethrowers.

Pacing through empty corridors, I wondered what had become of the platoon, specifically my fireteam, Martti, Staf, Antti and Erkki. The last I'd seen of them they were getting properly stuck in to the enemy. I felt proud of them for that – Martti most of all. The rush of battle had helped him conquer his fear and act like a proper trooper – that is to say, violent and aggressive – but at the right time of course.

 _Good lads_. I smiled, hoping, wishing with all my heart they'd got through alright. Either way I'd see them again soon.

How long? How long? I'd asked anyone wearing white constantly. Helena had been around a few times, stopping to say hello to me and the other patients. I'd enjoyed talking with her, even if I didn't show it outright, and had grown to like her. She could spend little time chatting though as the hospital's other wards had begun to fill up with wounded being flown in from off-world. That was another thing I did not mention, the crying. There were times at night, during the day too, when cries of pain, anguish, terror and fear, originating from other wards, reached our ears. The hospital staff tried to cover it up but we heard them all the same.

In brief moments I saw the patients from the other wards be wheeled past. It was one of the worst sights I'd ever seen in my life. The effect shrapnel, gas and fire has on the human body is truly horrifying. I saw men with wrinkled, leathery, reddish skin on their hands, arms and faces. Men with no eyelids, noses or ears and men with faces so misshapen it appeared that their dead skin had been melted into a doughy clay and had been moulded back into a crude approximation of a face. Many gas victims, a large proportion of which had been permanently blinded, were forced to hobble around on a cane, coughing feebly where the inhaled gas had burnt their lungs. It was a sobering, humbling sight to think that so many young men, so full of energy and compassion, would now be shunned as cripples for the rest of their lives by society simply because they were unable to give their lives for the Emperor as they had been ordered to. I had experienced nothing compared to those poor souls. My mild concussion was a mere slip and a fall where I'd be able to regain my feet easily. For them however, their time was over.

The previous day, the less-grievously wounded, including me, had been hauled into a covered dining area for a reception. A high-ranking officer and his over-dressed entourage were due to take luncheon there before touring the hospital. The dapper General went around us and presented medals to some of the wounded, me included. I stared in mute shock at the Wounded Lion as it was pinned to my shirt.

"Well, have you nothing to say, soldier? No thanks, no praise to the Emperor?" the General looked at me with stern grey eyes from underneath a peaked cap decorated with red and gold trim.

 _The Emperor can go do one,_ I was about to say when Helena, standing nearby, came to my aid.

"Please, sir, this man has severe concussion," she said not too truthfully.

"Man?" the officer, a REMF through and through, said in disbelief before moving on.

" _Ta_ ," I winked at Helena and grinned.

The last man in line to meet the General was wheelchair-bound. He had his grey-green uniform jacket draped over his shoulders and wore an artillery beret at an awkward angle.

"Hello, soldier," the General extended a hand to the artilleryman. From underneath his jacket, the artilleryman produced a stump where his right hand had been prompting the General to change hands. The artilleryman then shrugged his jacket away to show the stump of his left hand. Remaining stone-faced he presented one of his few remaining appendages – his right boot stuck up in the air – in a bizarre salute to the General.

Turning away, rather embarrassed I noted with some satisfaction, the General then crisply ordered sixty per cent of wounded men be returned to active duty within a fortnight.

 _Cheers for that_ , I thought. I could hardly wait to be away from the awfully stuck up, posh twats in the brass and their boot-licking flunkies in all their ridiculous red and purple finery. Already I'd had enough of hospitals. I was quite ready to return to the trenches and my mates.

 _That's more like it_. I glanced up at the ceiling as the lights came back on. A creaking door down the corridor to my right caught my eye – rather something opening it did. Frowning, I moved closer and pushed the slightly-ajar door inwards, stepping into a small room. The only thing of note was a large black mirror mounted in the wall above a sink.

 _What is–?_ I caught my breath as the lights flickered off. The naked bulb above sink however did not leaving the area in front of the glass bright. I watched as a shadow – me – stepped over to the sink into the light. Suddenly I found myself faced with by a terrible looking creature stepping from the shadows. His face was blackened and burnt; his eyes were red and glaring. Drawing back his lips he showed bloody gums that ran down into his teeth.

 _Who are you?_ I reached up and felt my own face. A sliver of fear ran down my back when the thing in the mirror's hands remained by its sides.

The dark entity simply shrugged and grinned.

 _I am you_ _what you are inside._

 _A monster?_ My heart thumped harder, shaking my head in fervent denial, I replied, _I'm not a monster!_

 _You are a violent thug – a killer._

 _I'm not a violent person._

 _You are a violent person – you enjoy it._ The thing leant forwards, resting its hands on the sides of the sink. Its face was close enough for me to feel its cold, unnaturally clammy breath.

 _Tell me – what would your old pals the Vardans think?_

 _Please stop._

 _What would Stazak or Joe Lymans think of you?_ The thing's lip curled before adding, _what would Izuru think?_

"NO!" The thing merely mentioning her name was enough to make me snap. Drawing back my fist I rammed it into the mirror shattering it into fist-sized chunks of sharp glass that dropped down with a loud clatter into the sink. For a brief moment I saw my real face again in the shards gathered above the rusted plughole.

Clutching my bleeding hand to my chest, I fled the room.

A whisper caught my ear as I hurried past a ward on the way back to my bed.

" _Soldier?_ Soldier?"

I strained to ignore the urgent whisper but felt drawn to it. There must've been room for fifty patients at least yet only two beds were occupied. One had a curtain drawn, In the other lay a man with bandages wrapped around his entire head with only a tiny hole near the mouth to breathe. As I watched, he raised an arm up to a metal bar that hung over him. Pulling himself upright he turned and looked in my direction. "I heard you go past before. I figured you weren't one of the staff here."

"How d'ye figure that?" I noticed the man's uniform jacket hanging beside his bed. He was a captain, decorated too. "Sir?"

"I think it would be bad form form for the medicae to go barefoot, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"What's your name, son."

"Larn, sir. Lance corporal, 1 Neria."

"335th?"

"228th, sir, C Company."

"Janders, Imperial Dragoon Guards."

"I know a bloke in 17/21st, sir, you one of their mob?"

"No, I was sent on an exchange programme with the 15th Emperor's Hussars – got a brewed-up track for my troubles; brewed me up with it."

"S'not too bad sir, you'll be back on the line soon."

"Not me. I am unrecognisable and of no use to anyone anymore, yet it does not matter to me. I've done my part. The war must now be carried by young men like yourself." Janders beckoned with a finger. "Forgive me, I am deprived of sight and can only sense by touch now." His hand brushed my arm and came up to my shoulder. "There. How old are you, young man?"

"Nineteen, sir."

"I've known younger men. You seem troubled, Larn. Does absence from the battlefield irk you?"

"Yes, sir, I got men out there, men I've gotta take care of. Stayin' back here's not doing me any good."

"I know exactly what you mean. There is a certain brotherhood amongst members of the Guard."

I was glad that this man understood. Talking to to a fellow veteran alleviated some stress and put me at ease – even if the man was an officer. He reminded me of Paul Meinerz; one of the good bunch.

"S'not just that, sir," I teetered on the brink of explaining my condition to Captain Janders.

"Something else troubles you?"

"Well recently – last couple of nights – I've been having nightmares 'bout places where I been, people I've known; past battles."

"I understand, it's normal for a serviceman to relive past events – common even. Every soldier has a different reaction to combat. When it comes, it comes. There is no turning away from it. Shellshock, battle fatigue, combat stress, there's no official term for it. The Imperium does not acknowledge such a thing as occurring amongst its veterans unless violence is involved. If so then the violence is quelled and the instigators marked as heretics then obliterated from existence.

"There's no cure?"

"It is not an illness like the flu. It is a mind slowly coming to terms with the horror it has witnessed and – in some cases – outright denying it. The human mind is a fragile thing. When the body has long healed and the scars faded, the mind still bears them."

"Yes, sir." I said, crestfallen. But I already knew the answer. The conversation I'd had with the Nerian NCO on the firing range at Camp Mackie had given an almost mirror response.

"I would ask of you," Janders beckoned. "Come closer."

"Sir?" I leant down so Janders could whisper in my ear.

"Are we alone?"

I glanced around the ward.

"Just the—"

"I know. I want you to bring me a knife from the kitchen."

"A knife, sir?"

"Yes, a knife."

"I can't—"

"Not for me. There is another – I will show you."

Raising himself up, Janders got out of bed. Without any assistance he made his way over to the other bed with the closed curtains.

"He has no hands left – or anything left. He wants to die. I've promised him," Janders continued, his voice a whisper. "He whispers to me, when we are alone. And he can hear."

Slowly Janders drew back the curtains, "he is a toymaker, he has three children, and he wants to die. He cannot go home, his family will not recognise him." Moving over to the bed, Janders gently pulled back the sheet and placed his hand on where the man's heart was.

"Where is my hand?" he whispered.

"Above his heart, sir."

Janders nodded, "good." He replaced the covers, "that's where I will place the knife. I have practised it every night for a week."

"Come back tonight with the knife," Janders said softly as he went back to his bed. I followed him and stood there awkwardly.

"Will you bring me the knife?"

"I can't sir," my mouth had gone dry.

Janders placed a hand on my shoulder, "I cannot order you to do this, but I must insist."

I imagined Janders holding the blade above the man's heart, just for a second and then plunging it down. The downwards force combined with the wicked point would penetrate the skin and the tissue with ease. The sudden shock would kill the man instantly. All I had to do was bring the weapon to him, bring the instrument.

"I can't, sir." my head began to throb. Stumbling backwards, I knocked into a bed and nearly fell over, "sorry, sir."

There was nothing I could do. The thought of murdering the man reviled me. But not a week before was I not doing the same to other men?

Fighting the urge to throw up, I turned and ran.

* * *

 _Our organisation does not tolerate repeated failures. This is your last chance, Kora._

Kora rewound the briefing and listened to the line again. There was no more room for failure, no more damage control sweeping in to stabilise the situation. Hers and others failure to apprehend the target had significantly tightened her leash, enough for her handler and superior to supervise the operation to make sure she did not fail. Another screw-up and she would be obliterated; all traces of her existence destroyed and forgotten.

The dark crimson bodysuit she wore made her look like a harlot. It was too tight in the wrong places, conforming to her body in the least practical manner possible and restricting her breathing. Breasts were moulded onto the chestpiece, for no clear reason other than to emphasise her gender, something that gained her no tactical advantage in the field. And _heels_ – the knee high boots had tall heels which aggravated her enough to make her ditch them and acquire a pair of tough, black combat boots with a sole geared towards traction. The gesture would've been heavily frowned on by her superiors had they found out, not that Kora cared. She valued practicality and durability over looks any day. Besides, what sort of person went into battle wearing heels and an outfit that made them look like a whore?

It was not Kora's choice to be sent in with the entry team. Her handler, his face hidden in shadow and with a garbled voice had personally ordered her to do so. Such a command she was in no position to disobey or even think about questioning. It was all she could do to meekly comply.

Sitting on both sides of her in the matte black six-wheeled 'Chariot' troop carrier were ten handpicked men. The first team of five, the entry team, would go straight inside. If things went south – unlikely given the lack of military presence in then the backup team, another five men would be deployed.

Each man wore a black flight suit with chest rig, riot helmet and gas mask, hiding all but their eyes which were fixed straight ahead, cold and unblinking. In their hands were compact .45 calibre Voss autopistols fitted with noise suppressors, telescoping stocks and identification locks, preventing hostile use. The point man of both teams' carried a Scatheros semi-automatic shotgun fitted with a suppressor and special ammunition that carried enough power to cycle the Scatheros' action and enable the sounder dampener to function. The entry team only – two men – had large cylinders strapped to their backs. Tiny red letters and symbols denoted the dangerous chemicals stored within.

Kora felt naked sitting so close to the heavily armoured mercenaries – if that was what they were. She knew none of them, who they worked for or where they came from. A generous exchanging of coin had assured their services for one operation only. Once it was over they would depart without a word.

Do not look any one of them in the eye, she had been told. There was something oddly clinical and sterilised about the way they acted. The few words spoken between them, ones she could count on one hand were always delivered in a flat, emotionless tone as if all of their feelings – warmth, sorrow, shock or stress had been completely drained from their bodies leaving only the bland shell.

A thumping on the outside of the vehicle signalled their arrival.

"Entry team dismounting, moving towards the entrance," the entry team leader said over comms as the five mercs dismounted from the ten-tonner and out the rain.

Kora followed, unclipping a laspistol from her leg holster. She could hear everything the entry team were saying but not what her supervisor said to them.

"Entry team in position at front entrance, breaching."

Kora felt the raindrops pelt her suit. Her eye lenses were catching the water, obscuring her vision. Wiping the mask's circular lenses, she crouched in behind the entry team and waited as a laser cutter was fired up. The torrid rainstorm and the thunder would mask any excessive noise the team made. With any luck they would be in and out within twenty minutes.

With the fragile lock dismantled, the team moved into the building, "entry team, moving in, securing atrium."

Kora had not been present at the team's briefing, the facts instead being relayed to her by her faceless handler. Despite being a professional the words, _civilian casualties, not a concern, and collateral damage,_ worried her. She only killed enemies of the Imperium. Slaughtering the contents of a hospital was excessive brutality, even for her.

Kora fought to keep her mouth closed when the merc on point rounded a corner and fired two rounds from his Voss at the staff manning the front desk. The two reports, otherwise muffled, sounded like two doors slamming. Two more thuds then as the two hospital staffs' heads hit the desk. Watching from the rear, Kora saw the large pools of blood reflected in the wall behind them.

"Atrium secure, proceeding to first floor."

The merc who'd fired scooped up the two brass cases and fell back into formation. Whoever the team were affiliated with, they were highly-trained professionals who cleaned up after themselves.

Kora watched them ascend the flight of stone steps leading to the first floor. They held themselves in a coordinated pattern, covering all angles as well as one another. Their Voss's were held sideways, allowing them to aim whilst wearing breathing apparatus but also to channel their ejected cases onto the floor so as to keep from showering their teammates with hot brass; it screamed Private Military Corporation.

Another door slammed when the team encountered a nurse or patient out of bed. Instead of letting the body drop, it was caught mid-fall and gently lowered to the floor, minimising the noise. Again the spent brass was recovered.

 _Helena Sofia_ , Kora picked out the name written on the person's breast. Finding her eyes wide open and shocked, Kora gently closed them. _Sorry,_ _you should've stayed in bed._

Thunder rumbled outside. Occasionally lightning lit up the hospital grounds. Inside, everything was silent, except from the rustle of clothing, the tiny clinking of rounds in magazines and slow breathing coming from mask filters.

The first ward was cleared with no positive identification made. Kora heard the soft squeak of a valve being turned, the ignition for the two cyanide gas canisters.

 _There are to be no witnesses left, either awake or asleep. Is that understood?_

Two merc's, holding rubber tubes in front of them, walked amongst the sleeping patients, spraying the colourless, odourless substance around.

Kora would've overruled the decision to kill those asleep and unaware, but she did not have the authority. The mercs would've simply ignored her had she spoken up. Money was their master and she was not providing it.

A sudden shattering of china halted the team in their tracks and made them lower their posture. They had passed through three wards, having failed to acquire the target, and were climbing up to the second floor – there were four – when a merc, the lengthened barrel of his Voss tracking around, knocked lightly against an ornamental pot mounted on a pedestal. The subtle error caused the top-heavy pot to slowly keel over and connect with the wall as it fell. The merc, letting his weapon fall against his chest by its sling, managed to grab the pot before it made contact with the floor however one of the large handles snapped off and fell down the steps, causing the loud noise which, had the merc's reflexes been slower, would've rung throughout the entire floor.

No one moved.

Kora shrunk against the wall as the tail-end merc swivelled around to cover the stairs below, where she'd been not a moment before. She held her breath.

"Clear." The order was given to move up. The clumsy merc looked down at his team leader and the others and waited for them to file past him. He'd fucked up and nearly betrayed his team. No words were said but the penetrating, hostile glances he was given said everything. He was no longer the point man, being confined to the rear echelon where the woman was.

Kora detected a slight slump in the man's shoulders as he held his weapon pointed towards the ceiling and waited for his teammates to press on. She felt slightly sorry for him, as it turned out there was some comradeship between the mercenaries, however cold and ruthless they seemed, and letting the team down must've come as a sordid blow to the man's pride.

Moving up behind the merc, Kora waited for him to move then followed on.

* * *

The sharp, aggressive noise of china breaking reached my ears.

 _Who's that?_ I looked up from where I'd applied a fresh bandage to my hand and over at the doorway leading to the corridor outside. I hadn't imagined it, it had definitely come from out there somewhere on the stairs. I remembered the large decorative pots set at the head of each set of stairs and asked as to how a member of the hospital's staff or a patient could collide with something so large despite it being in full view coming up the steps.

 _Unless they're not from the hospital,_ I turned the doorknob and pressed my face up to the crack, wondering who would be visiting at such a late hour.

My question was then answered. I felt my heart begin to flutter when a heavily armed man – two heavily armed men appeared at a corner further away.

 _Three, four, five of them!_

My mouth went dry. They were here for me, they had to be here for me – who else could it be?

 _What is that?_ I watched, mouth agape when two of the men both with cylinders on their backs turned on valves. They then waited as the other three, each holding compact automatics, entered the ward.

 _That's Janders' ward!_

I stretched out my ears, just making out the hiss of gas escaping the nozzles. Poor Captain Janders would never get the knife now.

 _Were they gassing each and every ward? What sort of monster would order all those innocent people killed just to get me?_

I couldn't quite believe what my eyes were seeing when a sixth person rounded the corner.

 _Who the hell is that?_

It was unmistakably a woman judging from the outfit's tight-fitting nature and ridiculous breasts. A sidearm was at her thigh as well as twin daggers – closer to stilettos – sheathed at her waist. Was it she who was giving the orders?

In the dark I saw the woman point down the corridor at where I was standing behind the door.

 _Oh no_.

The masked men reasserted themselves into formation and raised their weapons, moving slowly in my direction.

 _What do I do?_ I stepped back and pushed the door to as far as it would go. There was no lock on it and the thin material wouldn't stop a well-placed boot.

I searched about for an escape route desperately, sensing the approaching masked men with their gas and the strange woman calling the shots. There were windows high in the walls though they were either locked or would not open all the way. To stay in bed was to warrant discovery and concede defeat. To try and fight barehanded was suicide – these men were real professionals if they could break into a hospital at night with nigh a sound.

A fire extinguisher mounted on a bracket by the door caught my eye. Hefting it into my arms, I pulled the safety away and took hold of the nozzle.

Outside soft footsteps drew closer and closer until they were level with the door. I heard the squeak of a rubber heel as it pivoted slightly followed by the gas valves being turned.

Raising the extinguisher up, I prepared to strike.


	21. Chapter 20

00:55/M41/01-40.999/Davian Memorial Hospital/Haven/Agripinaa Sector/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

With a pounding heart, I clutched the fire extinguisher tightly and waited for the mercs. Glancing down at the trigger, I squeezed the slack until there was only an ounce of pressure left before the mechanism fired.

 _This is it, I'm binned_ , I thought, gritting my teeth, _i_ _f only…_

Something I'd missed them caught my eye. Several fire sprinklers, mounted at intervals in the ceiling, had given me an idea.

 _Of course – a light!_ There was my means of escape.

Putting down the extinguisher, I hurried across the ward, quietly as I could, to a bed several down from mine. A patient whom I did not know had attempted to light a cigarette a few days previously but had been spotted by a nurse. He'd received a scolding and a firm reminder that there was to be no smoking in the wards. His cigarettes had been confiscated but the patient had managed to hide the matches underneath his pillow. There was where I found the matchbox.

Pulling out a match, I scraped it across the rough surface and watched the flame ignite. Scrambling up onto a vacant bed, I held the light up as high as I could. The flame just managed to reach the liquid alcohol contained in the bulb.

 _C'mon you bastard, work, work._

Nothing happened for a second. I was worried that the system wasn't working or working intermittently like the lighting. If so this was the worst possible time to fail. A piercing shriek shattered the silence. Then the water came.

 _Ha! Deal with that!_ I grinned in silent laugher as I was soaked through. The water, though cold, felt glorious cascading down my body. I hadn't felt that for a very long time.

The alarm was now sounding throughout the entire hospital. Around, above and below I heard it start to awaken. Throwing the smoking match away, I noticed a bottle of medical spirits sitting on a bedside table. Leaping down from the bed, I ignored the groans from the patients who'd been rudely woken up and hastily lit another match.

 _Thanks lads_ , I remembered the Vardans teaching me how to light up during a rainshower. This was for them. I picked the alcohol up and ran over to the door, sheltering the lit match on the way.

 _Got a present for you_.

As the door was flung open I hurled the container, hard as I could, at the closest merc. Not expecting a projectile to be flung at his face the merc stepped back slightly just before the glass shattered. He grunted in shock as the stinking spirits were sprayed all over his helmet and shoulders. Keeping the match alight, I tossed it his way. The strong alcohol ignited with a roar. The merc began to scream loudly and flail about, scattering his comrades who were gathered around the door. The flames covered his entire upper body. Not even his assault vest or riot gear could protect him from the fire. In panic he fired several shots. The reports, loud even above the flames, went everywhere. One of the mercs, crouched next to the wall, cried out in pain when he took a hit in the shoulder, splattering the clean surface behind him with blood. Another, having recoiled in shock, howled and danced on one foot when a large chunk of it flew off in a cloud of flesh, blood and bone.

Snatching up the fire extinguisher, I rushed around the corner and swung it, catching an unharmed merc full in the visor with a solid _thunk_. The heavy steel was enough to crack the lense almost completely. Taken by surprise, an impossibility given their professionalism, the five mercs' were thrown into disarray. Confusion reigned as they tried to assist their immolating comrade and keep the growing swell of patients swarming out into the corridor away.

Giving the sole remaining merc between me and escape a solid burst of foam, I held the extinguisher in front of me and used it as a battering ram to force him out of my path. Normally my weight – measly, borderline underweight for that matter – would've made me bounce off the much-heavier man but the addition of the steel weight granted me that little extra bit of driving force. That and my blood was up. Barrelling through, I swung the extinguisher around and hurled it back behind me. As I ran down the corridor I heard a loud grunt from one of the merc's, his knee having the unfortunate fate of being in the path of several pounds of flying steel.

Gasping for breath, my bare feet skidded on the smooth floor, searching for traction on encountering a crowd of confused patients being herded by a single doctor. Slamming into a back, I shouted at them to stay away from where I'd just come from and shoved my way through the bodies, oblivious to the panicked cries that drowned my warning out.

The doctor, his white coat drenched, was trying to restore some semblance of order. Again and again he called for the patients to return to their wards to await assistance. The shouting and flailing of arms was doing nothing. Pulling sleeves and shoving people in front of me, I strained to make myself heard over the racket. A patient with a bandage wrapped around his jaw and face noticed someone taking action and began to organise the others. One by one the gaggle of wounded men flocked to me. I urged them to get down to the ground floor and out of the hospital.

I found Helena lying in her own blood. She was dead. There was nothing anyone could do. Picking up a loose robe, I covered her up and touched her arm briefly before moving on.

 _Sorry Helena._

Leaping down the stairs to the first floor, I waved at more idle groups and cupped my hands around my mouth bellowing, exhorting them to get out of the hospital. Quite soon a large group was surging down the last flight of stairs to the ground floor with me at the head. The lights were out, the sprinklers were still spraying their contents over us, nothing moved in the atrium. Beside me a hobbling patient with his leg in a cast tripped and fell face forwards. Letting the crowd surge around me, I stopped and knelt beside him. "C'mon, son, you're comin' too!" I pulled his arm over my shoulder and helped him to his feet.

"...Oh – oh thank you, thank you," the fallen patient, a young lad like I was, struggled for breath when I hoisted him up. He was dark-haired, fresh-faced and pale. "What's going on?"

"No idea," I lied, hopping down the last few steps onto the stone-cold floor. The bulk of the crowd had got ahead of us and was hurrying across the wide atrium towards the wide glass doors that lead out onto the street.

"What's yer name lad?" I asked.

"Leon Bence Kryler," he said.

"Arvin James Larn."

"Call me Ben."

"James. What mob ye with?"

"Jumael 14th."

I stopped dead. I felt a stone drop into my stomach. "What – what d'ye say?" I couldn't believe what I'd just heard, it wasn't possible.

"Jumael Volunteers," Ben replied. "Anyone you know?"

"Ha! Yeah – yeah!" I thumped his chest, threw back my head and laughed "I'm Fox Company."

"Bravo Company – what happened to your mob? You weren't with us when we deployed on Seltura VII"

"Long bloody story, tell it to ye when we get outta here!" I was overcome with joy at finally being reunited with someone from my old regiment. I had to know what had happened to the other fifteen companies but there were much more pressing matters at that point. "What's the waitin' for?" I shouted angrily at the crowd who were standing around like lemons instead of making for the door.

"Why aren't they moving?" Ben asked. "What's wrong with them?"

"Dunno, mate," I replied hoarsely, my throat sore from all the shouting. "C'mon, out the door – lively now!"

No one would budge.

 _What is the hold up?_

We saw exactly why no one was moving when we pushed through the last of the patients and reached the forefront.

Five armed mercenaries were between us and the doors. Standing with feet apart and weapons raised, they barred our way.

"Who – who are they?" Ben, his arm still over my shoulder, trembled in fear.

"Please let us go—"

"—I didn't do anything wrong."

"—I'm innocent!"

"Shuttup!" I hissed at the panic-stricken crowd.

The five mercenaries' had their weapons trained on us but made no move to attack.

 _Wait_ – _the woman!_

I felt a knot form in my stomach when the woman clad in the tight bodysuit appeared from the shadows. As she passed between the mercs, they lowered their weapons to the fire-ready position but retained their stance.

I watched the woman walk – glide would be a more appropriate word – over and stand in the open space between us. Even with the power out I could see the deep crimson curves and the white mask she wore which was decorated like a skull. Were she not armed and masked I might've mistaken her for a whore.

A standoff ensued. We had the numbers, they had the firepower.

"You know who you are. Come forwards," the woman said in a mechanically altered voice. When no one made a move she placed a hand on her holstered pistol, "don't make this any harder than it needs to be."

"These people aren't part o' this. Whoever you are take me and let 'em go free," I said loudly, stepping forwards.

"What—? James, no!" Ben, shaking himself free of my grip, wobbled unsteadily and placed himself between me and the woman.

"Ben, don't," I tried to shove him aside only for others to crowd around and shield me. "All of you get back, you don't know who these people are – they're gonna kill you!"

The woman turned slightly away from us and pressed a finger to where her ear was underneath her helmet. She appeared to be conversing with someone, a superior perhaps, If so then was it really she who was giving the orders?

Apparently a command was given when she stepped backwards behind the line of mercs yet it did not seem like it had come from her judging by her body language. I watched in disbelief as the woman raised a hand and glanced at the mercs on either side of her – was she attempting to reign them in? If so then it did not work. As one they raised their weapons. The sound of fire-selectors being flicked to automatic froze my blood.

"GET DOWN!" I screamed, throwing myself to the floor.

The atrium erupted in a storm of slamming doors, fleshy thuds and blood splattering the floors and walls. The screams of those caught in the vicious fusillade bombarded my ears, tearing at my nerves and setting my teeth on edge. Screwing my eyes shut, I clamped my hands over my ears. It was too much to hear so many people howling, moaning and crying out in fear and pain.

Opening my eyes, I felt around my body for any wetness or dark stains. But it was only water and other peoples' blood on my shirt.

" _James..."_ Ben's hand appeared from under his chest; it was bloody.

"Oh mate…" I saw the bloodstain spreading outwards.

Screwing up his eyes, Ben's ground his teeth together. He whimpered pitifully, "it hurts."

"Let's got home, let's go home together – we're gonna go home, back to Jumael, both of us." I gripped Ben's hand tightly and whispered, "I'm gonna get you home to ye family. You're gonna see the blue sky, green grass again, Ben… Ben?"

Ben's grip on my hand slackened. His taught expression turned to one of mild curiosity. His pulse gradually weakened, fluttered for a beat before disappearing.

 _No_ , _no he can't be dead._ _He can't be dead_. _How can he be dead?_

Letting go of Ben's hand, I raised my head up and looked behind. Not one person was left standing. Many had been killed outright, but many hadn't. Those still alive were writhing around in widening pools of blood and crying in agony.

I felt nothing. The mass carnage seemed too surreal to make any sense of. I wasn't angry; I felt no dismay nor was I scared. I felt nothing.

"James," a voice, female, said.

Glancing up, I recognised the dark, shapely face gazing down at me.

 _Kora._

Grasping my sticky hand, Kora pulled me onto my feet. She was now without her mask. Underneath it her face was sweaty but glowing.

"You're alright," she smiled and stroked my face. "I am sorry, I did not order this. Know that I would never hurt you." Leaning forwards unexpectedly, she kissed me.

I did not return it, feeling only revulsion at the taste of her lips. When Kora pulled back, I fixed her with a flat, accusing stare. My voice was barely above a whisper but was hard as ice shards, " _you bloody fanatic_."

"James…"

"You're gonna burn for what you did. These were innocent people – wounded men, doctors, nurses… what ye gonna tell their families? All the widows and orphans?"

"What we do we do for the good of the Imperium, now please come with me," she said dismissively. Kora kept hold of my hand and tried to pull me away, however I did not budge. The mercs had dispersed and were finishing off any wounded. I was deaf to the sharp thuds every few seconds and didn't even blink.

"Is that what yer masters say, to murder innocents by the score and disregard it as collateral?" I felt a hot rage flow through me. Balling my fists, I felt the nails slowly cut into the skin. My knuckles were white.

"We fight a war you could not possibly understand, James. It is a war within. We are the Inquisition, dedicated to finding and eliminating the heretic, the xeno and the unclean – those that would eat the Imperium from the inside out."

I didn't believe her, "and yer s'posed to be on our side, yeah? Kora, if your Inquisition commands you to abduct or kill anyone you please – man, woman, child – then your Inquisition's _evil._ Can't you see that?! Ye cross too many lines yer gonna turn out like those ye claim to fight. Yer no better than bloody Stickies!"

At that, a heinous insult as far as the so-called Inquisition was concerned, Kora backhanded me across the mouth, the force knocking my head to one side. Blind anger numbed the shock as well as the accompanying pain.

"Dare you compare us to the Xenos filth!" Kora's voice was laced with acid. Then with nought but a blink, her expression softened. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to hit you." Her fingers brushed my cheek. She regarded me with something akin to pity, "I understand how you feel. But you're young, naïve and ignorant of the threats the Xenos are to our race. You will be judged soon… heretic."

I felt a presence at my shoulder. The mercs had finished their clean-up and were pulling out.

"Cuff him," Kora ordered, replacing her mask. "Then make sure he's—"

A throaty roar coming from out on the street brought Kora whirling round. Out of the darkness twin beams of light blinded us. They were moving this way.

I caught a split-second view of a black Chariot personnel carrier beyond the glass doors before it smashed straight through them, blowing the thick shards everywhere.

Kora, the mercs and I scattered. Only in the interest of saving his own skin, the merc who'd been securing my hands behind me with zip-ties let me throw myself to the right. He ran to the left, a decision which resulted in the Chariot's front end, and the few hundred pounds of force behind it, slamming into his body and hurling him backwards all the way across the atrium to crash into a thick stone pillar.

Screeching to a halt the Chariot's rear doors were thrown open and armed men in civilian clothes rushed out. They overwhelmed the remaining mercenaries with their stub pistols, killing them or forcing them to flee. Lying on the floor with my head down, I winced as the unsuppressed gunshots rang loudly in my ears, almost stunning me. Kora had disappeared.

"That him?" someone close lifted my head up painfully by my hair and shone a light in my face. Gritting my teeth, I felt like my scalp was being pulled off.

"Yeah that's him, let's go!"

I was picked up bodily under the armpits and half-marched, half-carried around to the rear doors of the PC where other men pulled me inside. Forced to sit inbetween two bodies, a bag was thrust over my head with a string around the neck tightened. The doors were slammed cutting off the rear lights and plunging the interior into darkness.

With a groan of gears the Chariot was thrown into reverse, extracting itself from the wrecked atrium and reversing back onto the street where it fell underneath the pounding drumbeat of the rain.

 _What the hell just happened?_ My mind was reeling. Things had gone too quickly for me to keep up with; Ben, the shooting, Kora, and now this.

 _Who are these people?_

The bag over my head sucked in and out every time I took a breath, the rough material of which quickly growing damp. My heart was still thumping. The unexpectedness of the shooting followed by the executions had thrown me into a state of shock.

 _C'mon, snap out of it you bastard! It's not like this hasn't happened before!_

No, of course it hadn't. Forcing myself to breathe slower, I took several deep breaths and tried to relax.

 _Ben Kryler, Bravo Company, Jumael 14_ _th_ kept going through my head. It had been real for a second. I had a way home. But now he was dead, along with everyone else. The Inquisition, whoever they were, would pay for every single one of the men they'd murdered. I vowed that Ben and Helena's deaths would be avenged in time.

 _Your Inquisition's evil..._

Yes, they were. So was it they who manipulated, blackmailed and murdered – doing the Imperium's dirty work?

* * *

After many twists and turns the Chariot's brakes were suddenly thrown on bringing us to a halt quick enough that the thick tyres squealed. The wind was let in as the doors were opened. Rough hands hustled me out of the vehicle and into the rain. The bag over my head was soaked instantly and plastered itself to my face. My bare feet splashed in puddles, kicking water up my trouserlegs.

Then with no warning, my head was forced down underneath a car roof. I was shoved into a passenger seat and had the door slammed behind me. A quick thumping on the car's rear quarter prompted the driver to gun the idling engine, throwing me against the seat.

"Name?" a voice, male, authoritative, asked.

"What?" I gasped, my hands fumbling for a hold on something.

"I ask, you answer – do you understand me?" the male voice snapped.

"Y-yeah."

"Name?"

"Arvin James Larn."

"Number?"

"84593820."

"Homeworld?"

"Jumael IV."

"Mother?"

"Ellen."

"Blood type?"

"O negative."

"The name of yer drill sergeant in basic?"

"Ferres."

"Yer section commander on Grendel?"

"Stazak."

"The half-breed Stickie – what was its name?"

"Iz – Izuru," I stumbled a bit there, _h_ _ow do they know all this?_ "How d'ye—"

"Shut up!" the man shouted.

The damp sack was yanked off of my head. Blinking furiously through streaming eyes, I looked around the car I found myself in. Twisted around in the front passenger seat was a dark-haired man in civvy clothing with thick, non-military hair and a well-trimmed moustache. The driver was equally unkempt, unshaven, sallow-faced and wearing similar nondescript clothing.

"We want ye to remember our faces for when we call on you," the moustachioed man said.

"What?" I turned my head to look across at the person sitting in the other passenger seat. "Why would—"

A face I vaguely recognised stared at me. I had to think back to Agripinaa before it suddenly came to me. It was the pretty girl who'd been on the bunk opposite mine, the one who'd shared the food with me.

"…You? I don't, I don't understand," I looked from the girl to the hard-faced man confusedly.

"This is the second time we've done this for you, Larn – you owe us," the man picked up an infantry small pack and tossed it at me. "We'll be in touch."

"I…" I caught the pack. Questions were quickly forming in my mind.

"Yer uniform's in there, ID too. You remove those bandages as well," he pointed up at my forehead at the dripping gauze.

Digging my hand into the pack I pulled out a fresh pair of OG combats. Divesting myself of the drenched pyjamas I donned the uniform, boots, puttees and beret. Training enabled me to do it in a very short time. Throughout the girl watched me, always wearing a closely guarded expression that never faltered. Her garb was more military than the men's. It consisted of a double-breasted field grey jacket, a red armband on her right arm, a leather pistol belt and boots similar to the pair I'd seen Veen wearing on Grendel. Her dark blonde hair was tied tightly up permitting the space for a tall blue collar that nearly reached her ears.

 _Is she the authority here?_ I wondered, struggling to keep my eyes away from her. The way she watched me was unsettling.

"This is your stop," the man pointed out of his window at a distant line of docking lights. "Third ship down will take ye back to Nemtess. Remember, we'll be in touch; y'understand me?"

"Yeah," I nodded.

With a customary screech of tyres, the car swerved to a halt. My door was popped before we'd even stopped moving. Clutching the pack to my chest, I stepped out and turned back. "Thank y—," I had the words on the tip of my tongue but the car was already rolling away across the tarmac.

For a few moments I stood idle then I felt the rain begin to dampen the outer layer of my jacket. Glancing down the line of parked vessels, I picked out the transport bound for Nemtess and hastened over, hoping they wouldn't mind a stowaway.

* * *

 _Void Stalker Class Battleship 'Arabulucu', Command Bridge_

 _They make space looked crowded_ , Izuru thought, her gaze on the massed vessels of Ulthwé's Space Fleet which was marshalling around the Craftworld.

The fleets were all berthed at the port of Calmainoc which was hidden deep inside the Webway and accessible only via the Craftworld itself. It had taken several cycles for them all to get underway, make the jump through the Webway portal and assemble. Each fleet, four in total, had a Void Stalker battleship as their flagship. The VS's were about an eighth the size of the Craftworld and were instantly recognisable by their deep blue colour and four massive solar sails which rose upwards majestically and swept behind the main structure like wings. Supporting the flagships were the Eclipse-Class and Shadow-Class Battlecruisers. At twenty-eight to each fleet they were the lightning bruisers whose job it was to deliver their compliment of Darkstar fighters into battle as well as initiate aggressive and rapid strikes on their targets before breaking contact and retreating. Along with every other vessel in the fleet they were absolutely tiny when in formation alongside the VS's and positively microscopic compared to the moon-sized craftworld. Like with their larger cousin, the battlecruisers were grey-blue but a much lighter, bolder shade and sporting three red solar sails in the same pattern. Even smaller though by no means weaker were the twenty-six Aurora and Solaris-Class Light Cruisers. Despite lacking the firepower and armour of the heavier ships, they were much faster and extremely deadly when deployed on flankguard. Indeed, their Sonic torpedoes and Pulsar Lances were nothing to frown at when firing at exposed flanks and engines. Making up the vast bulk of the fleet were seventy-nine Aconite and Hellebore-Class Frigates along with Hemlock and Nightshade-Class Destroyers. They would take the vast majority of the casualties when they clashed with their opposite number whilst the heavier ships of the line would clash with the enemy's capital ships. In the middle of it all would be the fighters, hundreds of tiny little flies fighting amongst themselves as the giants traded blows above, below and around them.

604 ships, not including the fighter wings, the bomber wings and the transport barges carrying the Craftworld's Black Guardians, their elite militia, with Seers, Avatars, Harlequins, Banshees and untold other groups of warriors all proudly flying the flag of Ulthwé, ready to die in battle for their kind; yet not one single ranger. Their sigil was the Eye of Isha which symbolised the sorrow their goddess felt at being separated from her children. It was said her tears were forged into the spirit stones which every single Eldar now wore, keeping their souls from being devoured by the Chaos God Slaanesh after death.

 _Ironic_ , Izuru felt underneath her robes to where her spirit stone hung next to her skin and pulled it up in front of her face. _The Mother must've felt exactly as I did when my children were ripped from my arms – utter despair._

It had long been a matter for discussion as to what had happened to the handful of gods that had escaped annihilation in the aftermath of The Fall where the Empire had come crashing down. Isha, The Mother, had been one of the lucky few to escape the wrath of the newly-spawned Chaos Daemon Slaanesh – She-who-thirsts as it, he or she was known. What became of her next was a mystery.

Tucking the stone away, Izuru continued to watch the great marshalling of ships outside the huge floor-to-ceiling viewport that ran in a curve around the Arabulucu's bridge. As Ulthwé's newly-sworn human ambassador she had been presented with fur-lined robes of black and red not dissimilar to Farseer Ulthran's. Despite them fitting perfectly – she had no idea how they'd managed to get her measurements right without even talking to her first – Izuru had balked at wearing them. It had taken a solid amount of convincing to allow her to wear her old cameleoline robes. Izuru had argued, quite rightly as well, that the humans probably wouldn't take her seriously if she turned up wearing fine attire that told them that she was not a soldier. If she had her weatherworn ranger garb, still caked in dirt from Grendel, and looked like someone used to fighting down in the mud then she might be able to better sway them; they respected a fighter more than anything else. After much debate the council – with pressure from Ulthran – gave into her request. The only catch was that Izuru had to wear someone else's hair as her shorn, humanlike haircut looked too – well – human. Despite refusing full stop that she would not wear such a thing, the council insisted. As a final gesture of defiance Izuru had tossed it into an incinerator. She then resolved to make herself as dirty and as ugly as possible before meeting the humans; that made her smirk.

On the eve of her departure Izuru sat her sons Ilic and Korsarro down and broke the news gently.

"I have to go away for a while," she said solemnly.

The boys' expressions turned to dismay. "But how will we protect you if we're not together?" Ilic, rocking back and forth in his chair, asked.

"You promised you wouldn't leave us again," Korsarro added. "You swore."

"I swore you would never be in danger again. You are safe here, my children," Izuru reached across the table and took both the boys' hands, tiny in hers. Both were growing up fast. Soon there would come a time where they would no longer need her. It pained Izuru to abandon them again, but they were strong and had each other. "You will not even notice I am gone," she smiled reassuringly.

"Will you tell us about father? Where he is? Whether he knows about us?" Lights danced in Ilic and Korsarro's eyes. Izuru had never spoken about their father to them. They had been too young to remember the few years on Alaitoc where they'd been whole and happy and the long period of nomadic life inbetween Izuru's expulsion from Alaitoc and their abduction by the Void Dragons.

Izuru remembered her own father and his promise that he would tell her about her mother upon his return. Now it was she who was leaving her offspring behind to journey into the darkness. She hoped it wasn't a bad sign that she too would not return.

"I swear by the gods I will tell you everything about your father when I return to you," Izuru came around to them and kissed her sons on the forehead before embracing them. "I love you and nothing will stop me from finding you when all this is over."

Ilic and Korsarro, both clinging to her waist, smiled up at her, "we love you too, mother. Will you bring us something from your adventure?"

Izuru laughed and gazed down at the twins fondly, "anything for you."

 _Farewell sweet children, I shall see you in killithikadya_.

"Izuru Numerial?" a young, eager voice came from behind Izuru, almost startling her. To sneak up to a ranger was unusual. Turning around, Izuru frowned as a very young and helmetless Howling Banshee climbed the wide steps up to where she stood.

The Banshee, little more than a child was holding a holographic image in her palm. Even by her species' standards the youth was beautiful. She had thick, bright red hair hanging from a high knot and sparkling eyes that were a very pale crimson, almost pink. Her forehead and cheeks were daubed in warpaint, it too a blood-red colour. As a banshee she wore tightly-fitting, bone-white armour over a black bodysuit which, though appearing tough wasn't particularly effective in protecting the wearer from shrapnel or blows. Izuru had little respect for the Banshees, viewing them as glorified shock troops only suited to the chaos of close-combat who packed poor morale, unit cohesion and even worse marksmanship. But what annoyed her most were the prominent breasts moulded into the chestpiece. From experience she knew the danger of wearing such decorative armour with breasts as hits to the torso would be directed into the sternum. It was also quite painful for the wearer if they were particularly well-endowed – the armour lacking sufficient support in that area.

Izuru's eyes travelled down to the Wraithbone sword sheathed on the girl's hip and wondered what she was planning to do with it. Izuru hadn't used a sword since Grendel, she preferred a long rifle or even human firearms, however crude and brutal they were. The one consolation there was to this walking suit of brittle bone was the thick blue scarf tied around the banshee's neck. It wasn't much but it did break up the bold white shape of the chestpiece somewhat. If anything she wasn't entirely brainless as so many of her kin were.

Izuru noticed the girl's presence on the bridge seemed to annoy the ship's crew who were shooting hostile glances her way. "A-are you Izuru Numerial?" the young Banshee appeared starstruck at being in Izuru's presence.

"Oh gods," Izuru muttered. She did not have time for this child though admittedly it was a change from the derision and scorned remarks that usually followed Izuru around. "No, sorry, you must have me mistaken with someone else," she said. She quickly turned her back on the girl and hoped she'd go away.

"B-but isn't this you?" the banshee bounced forward and showed the Izuru the facial profile. There was no mistaking it.

"Seems to be," Izuru looked at the slowly-revolving, three-dimensional, glowing image and recognised a slightly younger, less-scarred version of herself back when she had her hair.

"I'm Keladi Lethidia." The banshee's face broke into a wide smile, "I-I've been assigned to you."

"No you have not," Izuru snapped, striding down from the viewport and across to the Arabulucu's seer captain. "Why has this child been assigned to me? Am I not the human ambassador? I have no need of a charge."

"Hmph," the seer captain smirked. "She volunteered for it, wanted to meet the great Izuru Numerial, slayer of Princess Saarania, hero of Ulthwé."

Keladi watched from a distance. When Izuru glanced over her shoulder at her Keladi grinned and made the sign of Ulthwé. Shaking her head, Izuru left the seer captain and bore down on the banshee. "How old are you?"

"305, I—I'm of age," Keladi said.

"And the penalty for lying on Ulthwé's is…?" Izuru folded her arms, unconvinced as to the banshee's truthfulness.

Keladi looked down at her feet before saying, "299."

300 was the age Eldar reached adulthood. Izuru was not impressed.

"I shall be 300 in a few cycles, a – a full adult," she said quickly. "Y-you're not that much older surely?"

"405, young one," Izuru regarded Keladi coolly. "Tell me, have you ever tasted combat, had the displeasure of being caught in a crossfire, or seen a friend's body be ripped into pieces until all that is left are the blood and guts in your hands?"

"No…" Keladi answered, then added brightly, "but surely I am to start somewhere. Please, my lady."

"I just want you to know exactly what you're getting into before it hits you," Izuru said.

A long, drawn-out horn sounded, signalling the fleet's imminent departure. "That's the signal," Izuru moved away, leaving Keladi standing there. "Follow me, we depart."

"W-where?" Keladi hurried to catch up to the taller woman.

"Nemesis Tessera!" Izuru replied loudly, striding off the bridge, her robes flapping. She could sense the excitement and youthful eagerness radiating from Keladi as she followed in her wake.

 _Young and eager to please_ , Izuru felt the tiniest modicum of admiration for the girl's enthusiasm and hoped she wouldn't take the harsh and unfair nature that was the reality of war hard.


	22. Chapter 21

Afternoon cycle/M41/02-40.999/Inquisitorial Cruiser _Zarkaniy_ /Haven Orbit/Agripinaa Sector/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

The Inquisitor awaited her. Stripped of her ammunition and weapons Kora felt naked, but more importantly, she felt fear.

Kora had not been permitted to sit by the Inquisitor's flunkies who'd relegated her to stand awkwardly in the centre of the spartan ante-chamber outside their master's offices whilst leering openly at her. Keeping a calm demeanour, Kora adjusted her grip on her helmet in the crook of her arm and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. It was one thing to be kept waiting for nearly three hours. She had had to remain on her feet for the entirety. The bullet fragment she'd taken in her thigh at the hospital itched furiously. She had to resist the urge to scratch as it would only attract the eyes of the Inquisitor's repulsive aides.

A greasy-haired lackey with wires trailing from implants at the back of his head sat at an oak desk that supported a wide datascreen, the luminous green light of which was reflected in his face. Above his shoulder a servo skull marked with a black Inquisitorial symbol hovered, its beady red eye flicking about. Two other leather-clad henchmen, neither high nor low on the ladder of authority, sat in comfy chairs on either side of the room back in the darkness. They watched Kora constantly like a chained predator would watch its prey. Even in the absence of shackles, she knew she was a prisoner.

 _Where are you, James?_ Kora wondered. She was devastated at the failure of her mission to apprehend him at the hospital, even moreso of the bloodbath. Massacring so many innocent Imperial servicemen and civilians was entirely against her – and for that matter the Inquisition's – doctrine. They were the knocks on the door at three in the morning, the quick and bloodless abductions out of sight of the public eye, and the painless denouncement followed by the obliterations. Her superiors resorting to such blunt, brutal means was disgraceful and, in her eyes, conduct unbecoming.

Guilt gripped her. It hadn't meant to turn out like it had. She'd tried to stop it, she really did, but the Inquisitor's cool voice in the ruthless mercenaries' ears granted them the authorisation and there was nothing she could've done to stop it. _Please forgive me, James_ , _please forgive me_. _You know this was not personal, just a job._ A small part of her was relieved that he had been snatched by a different party, whoever they were, and saved from the Inquisition's wrath though of course it only delayed the inevitable; in the end they always got their man.

 _Titus_ , the Inquisition had Titus, and since Kora had failed he would be punished for it. She remembered too the promise James had made to kill her if Titus was harmed. Now she understood that he had meant every word of it. The young man was extraordinarily tough, despite being small, weedy and nineteen. Now that he'd dodged the Inquisition and even killed one of the mercenaries' he was turning out to be a far more serious threat than either Kora or the Inquisitor had previously thought. It wasn't every day that the Inquisitor underestimated someone. No doubt he would grill Kora for _her_ failure as he would emphasise.

"The Inquisitor will see you now," the wired-up lackey said in a cold, clinical voice without looking up from his screen. A pair of double doors, engraved with the Inquisitorial letter I below a shiny brass aquila, parted silently with the softest hiss. Steeling herself, Kora stepped forwards.

The Inquisitor's quarters were like nothing she had ever seen before. It was all she could do to keep from gaping at the extent of the furnishings. Lavish seemed the appropriate term to describe it fully. To someone like Kora, used to getting by day to day with only the basic essentials, finding herself in such fine accommodation was an entirely new experience that left her speechless.

Vast paintings hung on the walls with fine wood shelves lined with leatherbound books all different sizes stacked neatly against one another. Floor-to-ceiling columns, cut from fine marble, stood at the corners of the room and extended outwards in a gentle slope at the tip and base. Busts of ancient Inquisitors stood atop plinths. Beautiful frescoes decorated the ceiling displaying influential figures, both clothed and nude. _Never in my entire life…_ Kora briefly forgot where she was, gazing up at the art above her; it was mesmerising. In the centre of the room was a firepit, from the smell of it burning real wood. It did constitute a serious fire hazard but this was an Inquisitor's chamber. No one would dare protest it, being too afraid of the power the high-ranking official wielded. Kora watched the flames dance and felt the heat wash over her. Was it really necessary even with the ship's own heating system?

A collection of models arranged on a shelf caught Kora's eye. Some were of Imperial vessels, from the smallest frigates and corvettes to the largest battleships – the ones with the city-sized cathedrals and gigantic statues of the Emperor on top. But what intrigued her most were the ancient vessels constructed from wood and cloth. Two ships, if they could be called that, looked so flimsy that even to look at the the models might accidently and irreparably damage them. The rope criss-crossing the tall masts that extended upwards from the deck were so small it scarcely seemed possible that a human hand could've built such a delicate construct.

Kora did not hear the footsteps behind her. A soft voice said, "fascinating isn't it? I always loved making models in my youth. The precision required was so great – but when it all came together after great effort, I could sit back and say to myself, yes, this is perfect."

A tall, handsome-faced man in his mid-thirties stood beside the fire with his hands clasped behind his back. He was dark, lantern-jawed and wore his hair in a brutal buzzcut that left the sides of his head shaven. His attire consisted of a double-breasted, blue leather jerkin, dark trousers and high, steel-capped boots. Seeing Kora's nervousness the Inquisitor's wide lips parted. His eyes sparkled.

"Inquisitor," Kora turned swiftly and bowed her head. "Please forgive my curiosity. I have never seen such artefacts."

The lopsided grin the Inquisitor wore widened, stepping away from the fire he moved over to stand at Kora's shoulder. "Indeed, there are few like it remaining in the Imperium. They are precious to me." Turning his head to look sidelong at Kora, the Inquisitor's eyes rested on her neck then slowly travelled down her body, drinking it in inch by inch. "I don't believe I've ever had the pleasure… How enchanting you are my dear, won't you join me for a cup of Tanna?"

The smooth voice and charming personality caught Kora off-guard and set her nerves on edge. This was not what she had been expecting. She'd envisaged a scarred, middle aged veteran of the Inquisition who'd overdone it on the implants, not this boyish-faced, suave, almost gentlemanly official. Instead of being resigned to cruel punishment for her final failure, the Inquisitor was inviting her to tea!

"Gratitude, Inquisitor," Kora's veneer of composure strained to uphold itself. Gamely she followed the broad-shouldered man into a smaller side room. No less grandiose, a well-aged, polished wooden desk dominated the floorspace. More busts, revered members of the Inquisition as well as former High lords of Terra glared at Kora from the back wall. Despite leaving the oppressive warmth behind, Kora felt herself begin to sweat.

"Please," the Inquisitor offered her a chair before seating himself behind his desk. "Do you like Tanna tea?"

"Yes, Inquisitor," Kora replied. Tanna tea, funnily, was something she could drink by the pot. How did he know that?

"Here, it is a good leaf," the Inquisitor smiled as he passed a cup and saucer across the desk to Kora.

"Gratitude, Inquisitor," Kora inclined her head respectfully. She could see the man's gaze fixed on her, willing her eyes to meet his. There something magnetic about the Inquisitor, a certain presence, an aura of command and supreme confidence that surrounded him. It suddenly struck her that he was a man like Max – used to getting anything he wanted. Kora glanced at the Inquisitor inadvertedly over the brim of her cup, he was still smiling. She felt a chill despite the warmth from the cup. His pale blue eyes were startlingly similar to James Larn's but where his were warm and friendly, the Inquisitor's were icy, giving him a piercing stare that seemed to see through her and right into the depths of her soul; it frightened her.

"Let us talk about Haven," the inquisitor said softly. "Do you understand why?"

"I understand, Inquisitor," _here it comes_.

"70 000…"

"70 000 what, Inquisitor?" Kora asked.

"70 000 Imperial Credits passed from my hand to the contractors' hands, a trifle in hiring their services for an operation," the Inquisitor drained his mug and set it down on the saucer. Sitting back in his chair he linked his fingers together and surveyed Kora. "It was a simple mission, a quiet, routine, uneventful mission with only one outcome—"

"Inquisitor, the report I filed—" Kora began but the Inquisitor sprang to his feet and leant forwards across the table resting on his balled fists. He said nothing but the look he gave Kora was enough to silence her.

"Money from my own purse – blown, all of it! You were trusted with an easy task, Kora, to find and apprehend a heretic but instead in your report you spin a tall tale about how he murdered one of the entry team with nothing but a glass of spirits and a lit match, proceeded to escape in the chaos after a fire alarm was sounded and then received help from an outside party which not only terminated the back-up team but also stole your transportation and made off into the night," the Inquisitor oiled tone had quickly hardened. Now it was more akin to an animal growl.

"I stand by what I stated in my report, Inquisitor," Kora looked the Inquisitor squarely in the eye, hoping her face did not betray her fear.

"If so then I am down 70 000 Credits as well as a Special Purpose Chariot Personnel Carrier and half a dozen Voss automatics with ammunition…"

"What of those killed on the operation? The mercenaries slaughtered a roomful of innocents, men and women – Imperial serviceman and citizens." Kora couldn't believe that all the Inquisitor cared about was his money and his pride, had he nothing to say about the poor civilians?

"As I said, your mess, Kora."

"It was not I who gave the order though," Kora said quietly. The Inquisitor knew damn well whose authority the mercenaries had acted on – the arrogant fuck.

Slamming his fist on the table, the Inquisitor's face turned thunderous. Kora blinked as the crockery clattered and looked up at her superior. Raising a finger, he waggled it and smirked then, pressing a hidden button underneath his desk he spoke into a secure channel reserved for his use only, "put the contents of the Davian Memorial Hospital to the torch, its people too. Make it look like an accident." The smirk was still stretched irritatingly across the Inquisitor's face as he moved round behind Kora. "Had an attack of conscience? Maybe you'd rather the wanted heretic go free with his life – unless!" Kora fought the urge not to recoil when she felt the Inquisitor's warm breath in her ear. " _You wanted him to escape!_ " His voice was laced with glee, " _y_ _ou let him go, Kora!"_ Kora clenched her teeth on feeling the Inquisitor's tongue on her skin. " _You let an enemy of the Imperium walk free – deny it, deny it!"_

"You speak the truth, Inquisitor," Kora hissed, squirming as she felt his teeth nibble at her ear.

"Always," he replied, moving down to her neck. "You are not a liar, I respect that. But you _must_ be punished for your error. I gave my master my word I would punish you." Reaching behind Kora's neck, the Inquisitor's fingers searched for the zip that ran down the back of her suit. Gently, he pulled downwards revealing the bare skin of her back. "Such a beautiful body you have. It would be such a shame to spoil it."

"You would have me?" Kora looked over her shoulder at the Inquisitor standing behind her.

Smiling widely he replied, "again and again – well before my men have you and so forth; wouldn't want them spoiling you. Argus, Lenz?"

The two leather-clad henchmen from the ante-chamber appeared behind Kora. At the Inquisitor's signal they hauled Kora up from the chair. "As you were," the Inquisitor halted them briefly and made a sweeping motion off both shoulders. This prompted them to drag Kora's suit down to reveal her bare shoulders. The Inquisitor's opened his mouth and grinned, displaying perfect white teeth. "Now, she will not be touched, not until I've had my sport. After you may do with her what you will, then place her with the other women," he reached out and stroked Kora's face, "leave the face though, a woman should always look her best."

"Mercy – Inquisitor, mercy," Kora blurted as she was being dragged away.

With his back now turned the Inquisitor poured a fresh cup of tea, "mercy is a concept I do not understand."

"Not for me – for Titus!"

Turning to face Kora with cup and saucer in hand, the Inquisitor said in an oddly sincere tone, "I swore young Titus would not be harmed. Who knows, some day he might make a fine acolyte." Stooping, he picked up Kora's helmet from the floor beside her chair and placed it on his desk.

"Swear it to me!"

"You are no position to be making demands, young lady," he sneered before taking a sip.

"If they came to hear me beg…" Kora said defiantly.

The Inquisitor left his tea on the desk and came to stand before Kora who'd been forced onto her knees. "No, they came to hear you scream. Now I am not a patient man so actually I shall begin right here," he laughed down at the helpless Kora. "You are as all women should be…" he began to unbutton his trousers, "…on their knees in front of men."

* * *

 _Nemesis Tessera..._

Seated on one side of the C-29 Tetrarch's wide fuselage, I felt the straps of my safety harness cut into my chest as we made the final descent. The roar of the lander's engines grew louder and louder in my ears, cutting out all sound and boxing my senses in. The last time I'd rode in a giant Tetrarch was the fateful day when a tiny clerical error had got the two-hundred man company of Jumael's – my company – slaughtered like animals. Now I sat in the same kind of seat, powerless to do anything in case a freak accident happened and the lander dug us a grave in the planet far below. Thinking about it brought back bad memories, ones I'd rather not revisit.

"You boys are lucky," a naval crewman, decked out in blue flak jacket and helmet, shouted at us from the walkway that cut inbetween the bucket seats. "You're the last wave we take down. Once we drop you planetside we're ducking out the system."

"Why?" A babyfaced private who looked about seventeen asked, nonplussed.

"Chaos ships been spotted – lots of 'em too. They're gonna be making a pitstop here."

"What's that mean?" The babyface didn't have a clue what he meant.

"They're gonna blockade the planet," the navy man shouted back.

"What about our ships?" Another, also in his mid-teens, looked dismayed at what he'd just heard.

"They ain't gonna be stickin' round for nothin'."

"They can't just leave us!"

"I dunno, I'll ask Admiral Quarren when I get back on deck. He keeps me posted on his tactical decisions – shortwave!" He flashed a brilliant smile at us, smug that he was taking the safe and easy way out.

I remained silent throughout the exchange, my face impassive. The boys around me, nearly all of them in their late teens, were either silent, scared or absolutely bricking it. I couldn't blame them. Being casually informed that they would very shortly be cut off from the navy and any kind of relief would do nothing for their morale. I on the other hand knew what it was like to outnumbered and surrounded, for me it was nothing new. It wasn't arrogance but simply experience. Ever since the hospital I had been enveloped in a strange calm, an odd serenity, casting a bubble about myself that conveyed a message to anyone who drew near – stay away from me. It seemed to work as I was left alone.

We landed without me even noticing it, I was too self-absorbed. To my right down the fuselage the heavy cargo door dropped and slammed into the runway. I walked apart from the other wetnoses as we disembarked out into the freezing cold air that blasted through Camp Solar Macharius. "Oh shit, look at that," a babyface pointed at three damaged C-29's pushed together on the left side of the airstrip. On the right side of the airstrip was the gutted carcass of another C-29, charred and still smoking. Men in tinfoil suits were squirting the torn metal with white foam.

"Is the base under fire?" someone wondered aloud.

"Did the Chaos militia do that?"

I shut my ears out to the naïve, silly questions the replacements were throwing about who expected the answers to be tossed back at them like a football. There was no making sense of what you saw in war, it just happened. What did catch my eye were the many intact landers with their bellies open to the elements to receive embarking troops and large piles of supplies stacked on the tarmac. Marching up the ramps one company at a time, the soldiers, whichever regiment they belonged to, appeared to vastly outnumber those of us that had just arrived. _Is this a general evacuation?_ They were not Cadians who, by now, would've all left the system bound for their homeworld but neither were they Nerians. Either way I didn't like to see so many of us leaving the danger when we would shortly be heading right back into it all.

Our passes were given an extra-thorough scrutinising by the Bootnecks guarding the Navy's stuff. After flashing my military ID, I was let through the double gates that were guarded by armed personnel with cyber-hounds and whisked over to the Guard side of the wire.

"Larn, Arvin James, lance corporal, 84593820…" the personnel officer's eyes ran down the long list of tiny names on his screen before locating mine. "1 Neria?"

"Sir," I said mechanically.

"A convoy will be leaving the eastern gate at 1600. It'll take you up to the line; be on it."

"Sir," I figured if I kept repeating the same word it would deal with any difficult officers. I was in no mood to butt heads with any pencil-pushing REMF's.

I found further evidence that an evacuation was imminent when I reached the 228th's regimental stores which at first glance looked to be being dismantled. A tired-looking Quartermaster Branch captain with dark circles under his eyes was typing on a keypad with one hand and scribbling on a clipboard with the other; multitasking did not seem to be his speciality however by the constant backspaces and crossings-out he was doing.

"Sir," I stepped to one side to allow a pair of Q Branch personnel carrying a heavy steel container between them go by.

"What is it, Corporal? I'm very busy here," the staff officer looked up as I hastily threw a salute.

"Sir, I'm in need of kit," I dropped the salute when the Captain flicked his hand up to his temple for the briefest moment and went back to his work.

"Is it urgent? We're in the process of moving shop here; you've come at a very bad time."

"Sorry, sir, my battle taxi's leaving at 1600, I'm gonna be heading to the bondo."

"Oh I see – Lieutenant!" The Captain called a junior officer, a learner, over. "Distribute to the Corporal what's left in stores – full kit d'you need?"

"Yes, sir," I nodded.

"Follow me, Corporal," the Subaltern beckoned and I entered the open door into the office that led back into the Nerian's stores and followed him round into an almost bare warehouse. "Armourer, find a rifle for the Corporal," the officer said to a clerk standing behind a wide counter with rifles visibly behind it.

"For the – the Corporal, sir?" The clerk looked startled at being addressed.

"Yes, what's the matter?"

"All serviceable rifles have been packed away, sir, we're just cleaning out the repairs workshop right now."

"I understand that but this man needs a rifle now, Armourer. See what you can salvage from repairs."

"Yes, sir," the armourer disappeared into the workshop to look for a spare weapon.

"Doesn't matter…" I began.

"No, no, no, you _need_ a weapon, Corporal. As long as I'm working here I intend to keep every man in the regiment supplied with adequate arms and ammunition for as long as they need it."

"So is the regiment pulling out of Nemtess, sir?" I asked.

"We're moving somewhere, I just don't know where honestly, Corporal," the Lieutenant shrugged. "Could be back to a temporary base or even back to Cadia – only the OC knows."

The Armourer returned presently. "Sorry, sir, the only rifle I could find that's not in pieces is this one," he presented an unloaded IM rifle with battered wooden furniture. After performing the safety check he laid it on the counter. As he did so the rifle broke apart at the body-locking catch. "Uhh, hold on," the Armourer quickly forced the weapon back together. Watching, not a little dismayed at the faulty weapon, I recalled experiencing a similar problem back on Grendel during an ambush. I'd run out of ammunition for my rifle and requested a mate who was acting as No. 2 for a .30 cal toss his piece over to me. The mate had thrown short forcing me to drag the rifle over and quickly fire it from the hip. The receiver catch coming undone was the least of my problems though as the bolt had flown out and hit me in the chest. Had I been aiming properly I would've been blinded; it had been a lucky escape for me.

"The – the receiver catch likes to come undone but other than that you should be alright," the Armourer said, bringing me back to the present. He did not sound confident however.

I picked the rifle up and slung it on my shoulder, "it's happened before, I'll deal with it."

"Alright then," the Armourer passed a coil of wire to me. "Wrap this around the receiver, should keep it in one piece."

"Thank you, Sergeant. Right, Corporal, let's find you a pack," the officer went to rummage about the shelves.

"Here, you look hungry," the Armourer passed me a packet marked 'biscuits' and a tin of jam when the Lieutenant wasn't looking.

"Ta," I slipped the food into a pocket, grateful for the NCO's generosity. I was hungry – ravenous for that matter. The scran I'd been fed at the hospital had been anything but fulfilling. Even the Guard's horror bags' or the infamous 'pink death' that the cookhouse put in rat-packs were, right now, more appealing.

"Corporal?" The Lieutenant dumped an infantry pack on a bare table and opened the flap. "Everything you need should be in here. You'd best be on your way, nearly 1600."

"Right, sir," I hoisted the pack on my other shoulder and let myself be escorted out. Once back outside, feeling the wind's icy fingers on my exposed face and hands, I turned up my collar in a vain attempt to stave off the cold. It had indeed got colder and the visibility had lowered, obscuring the taller buildings and triple-A towers in fog. I found my sense of direction muddled as well. I was forced to ask directions, first from a group of Chogeys who, being new on the base didn't have a clue where anything was, and second from a pair of Wedges – Sappers – swathed in thick greatcoats, gloves and scarves. The Wedges, sympathetic to whom they thought was a new replacement, immediately told me where to go. Thanking them, I lowered my head into the wind and doubled over to the east gate.

A procession of whitewashed PC's, their exhausts billowing smoke, were lined up down the main causeway that led to the east gate. Most had their rear hatches lowered displaying groups of soldiers huddled against one another all trying to retain some form of warm. To my dismay every track I passed with open hatches was full of troops and gear, not one of which had a vacant seat.

"Lost, Corporal?" Another corporal spotted me roving about. I eyed the Fullscrew and instantly recognised the regular, stuck-up Guard air he had about him. He was lording it over an oppressed-looking mortar section who were either balancing 2-inch tubes on their shoulders or lugging the sights and heavy baseplate about. The Corporal carried only a rifle and was throwing his weight around like a champion. I tried to duck him but was unsuccessful.

"Speakin' to me?"

"Who do you think I'm talking to? Unload your pack, I've got a detail for you. You're going to help take these tubes over to the airstrip."

"Nah, I'm going up to my outfit," I replied. "You're outta luck."

"Damn your eyes. This is an order," the Corporal blustered.

"Go bury yer 'ead in the mud!"

"In the old Guard—"

"To hell with the old Guard!"

"I'll report you to a commissar," he snarled. "You will be shot!"

"Report me. Then come up to the bondo and get me."

"What is your name?" He raged. The mortar section was edging backwards, sensing it about to kick off.

"Lukas F. Yarrick Macharius, rank: acting private, serial number: one billion two and a half," I said coolly. The Corporal's face turned a violent shade of beetroot. He did not like being shown up in front of his men. Shrugging off his rifle, he thrust it at a private who stumbled under the combined weight of tube and baseplate. I dropped my pack and rifle, _time to throw some hands_.

Before we could gently settle our differences an authoritative bark halted proceedings. It heralded the appearance of a staffy, one whom I recognised. "I think this one's mine, Corporal," Sergeant Scherder ambled up. His hands were thrust into the pockets of his windproof smock and he was whistling a tune. The mortar Corporal, recognising the legendary Scherder, paled and stumbled backwards in fear. "What's _your_ name?" Scherder asked gently. He was unarmed yet his presence visibly cowed the entire mortar section.

"Mmm…" the Corporal mumbled something and beat a hasty withdrawal, soon to be followed by his men.

"Been making friends I see?" Scherder said, a wry smile on his face.

"Something like that, Sarn't," I replied.

Reaching down to the ground, Scherder picked up my pack and rifle, "I might've let you fight had you not been so outnumbered."

"I coulda taken the Fullscrew. The others couldn't give a damn. He was ridin' them hard, Sarn't. Bloke like that don't deserve to be in command."

"Maybe but you'll see a lot more like him – a _lot_ more," Scherder passed me my gear and went over to an open PC.

"How're the lads, Sarn't?" I jogged to keep up with Scherder.

"I don't know, Larn. Antic and I have been at a field hospital here – not as lucky as you!"

" _Yeah_ ," I muttered glumly, casting my eyes downwards guiltily.

"Well hullo, who's this?" Corporal Antic', sitting beside the open hatch, grinned widely underneath his moustache. "Young Lern? Lem? What was it…?"

"Oh look, a moustache with an idiot hanging off it," I retorted, shoving my pack beside my feet and squeezing in next to a Nerian private. Antic guffawed and pumped my hand warmly.

"Found young Larn about to get intimate with a fullscrew," Scherder pushed Antic up and sat down. "No doubt he would've won of course had the dispute been settled in a gentlemanly conduct. But remember, as soldiers of the Imperium you have a code of conduct to uphold. I expect you all to be the filthiest, foulest-smelling bastards with the highest number of tallies and the lowest set of morals in the entire Imperium," Scherder pointed a finger at me. "That goes for you too." I felt the corners of my mouth twitch. Scherder had done what I'd thought was now an impossibility. I grinned.

Presently the air was invaded by the sounds of engines revving. One by one the track's hatches were shut, sealing us inside the stuffy metal box. With a crunch of gears our PC lurched forwards. When we next saw light we would be back up on the line, back into hell but also back with my mates. It was strange but I couldn't think of a place where I would rather be.


	23. Chapter 22

Void Stalker-Class Battleship 'Arabulucu'/The Webway

* * *

 _Khaine guide my sword._ Keladi Lethidia balanced on one foot in the middle of her chamber with sword held blade upwards, inches her nose. Reciting the steps in her mind, the banshee pivoted this way and that, arcing her body gracefully and switching stances with her blade every time she moved. Each imaginary assailant was blocked by her weapon which covered each and every angle. Never still for one second, Keladi counted down from the three-dozen ripostes, grapples, guards and numerous other patterns of the eight different techniques she'd been tutored in as well as maintaining focus on her surroundings, where she was and where her opponents were, such a thing being critical on the ever-changing battlefield.

Exhaling the air from her lungs, Keladi paused for a brief second. Her senses were alert, her body relaxed, in her mind she was unstoppable. _I am an instrument of your will_ , _O Bloody-handed One_ , Keladi thought, feeling the excitement of the duel grip her. There was nothing like the clash of blades to get Keladi's blood flowing, releasing her from the stern commitments of everyday life where she was never able to live up to the expectations of her perfectionist blademasters. Nothing it seemed would please them as to them she was always the underachiever, the slow one who following behind the rest of the crowd after they'd all succeeded. It did not help that Keladi had difficulty reading or an attention span that seemed to wander about like lost livestock when called upon to study. Every time she fixed her eyes on the flowing text and symbols they were slightly blurred and seemed to swim about making them impossible to read. Fearful that she would be branded an outcast, Keladi had kept her condition a secret and had done the best she could despite the mockery and insults. To her kind, not being perfect amongst the Eldar was a crime.

"You learned by the numbers?" a voice said from the shadows.

Keladi, caught off-guard, nevertheless continued her steps before finishing with a flourish and sheathing her sword. "From thirty-one downwards," she replied, _how long have I been watched?_

"Each and every one?"

"Each and every one."

"Impressive, young one," Izuru came forwards into the light. Keladi stared at the white lines across the older woman's face and wondered momentarily why Izuru chose to display them like that where she could've easily had them removed. It did nothing for her looks. Neither did the absence of her long hair. Keladi wondered whether or not it was through choice. Her species had always taken pride in their natural beauty but this one was trying to make herself as plain as possible. To her it made no sense. "And what do you expect to do with that sword then?" Izuru asked, folding her arms behind her back.

"I shall honour the Bloody-handed One by ending the lives of many humans," Keladi grinned, bouncing from foot to foot.

Izuru turned her head slightly and raised an eyebrow, "we do not go to fight the humans, we got to fight the Chaos hordes. Had you been paying closer attention you would've known that before you volunteered."

"B-but the humans are our enemy, they are bad and we are good. I do not understand why we do not fight them _and_ Chaos. Is this not what I trained for, to kill humans?" Keladi's face fell.

"No, Keladi, that is _not_ what you were trained for," Izuru said. _Gods, I am dealing with a child here._

"So are there good humans then?" Keladi asked. "Some are good and some are bad?"

"Yes, Keladi, we go to ally ourselves with the good humans. We share a common enemy. They are strong and we need their help to fight Chaos – now enough of this, show me your technique!"

"Yes, Lady," Keladi clumsily drew her sword from its sheathe.

"Just Izuru – Izuru will do fine. I hold no official rank amongst your people."

"You were a ranger, were you not?"

"I used to be," Izuru shrugged off her cameleoline cloak and tossed it away.

"Before… that?" Keladi nodded at Izuru's face. When she did not reply, Keladi asked, "do you not carry a weapon?"

"I need none," Izuru replied flatly.

"But how will you fight me?" Keladi spread her hands.

"Observe. Now hit me, if you can," Izuru spread her feet apart and invited Keladi to strike. "Do not hesitate – they won't," she said, meaning the enemy.

Keladi advanced on Izuru and swung. To her astonishment, the former ranger caught her wrist with one hand and used the other to deal a sharp blow to Keladi's temple. She felt a stinging pain and quickly stumbled back out of Izuru's range.

"You blink before you strike – don't," Izuru said. "You are telling your opponent when you will attack, allowing him to prepare a counterattack before you've even landed the blow. Be unpredictable—"Keladi surged forward, keeping her eyes open, willing her blade to cleave off an arm. Izuru caught Keladi's wrist again, swung it around downwards and stepped forwards, driving her fist into the banshee's gut. In the absence of the bone-white plates encasing the body, Keladi's black bodysuit granted her no protection from the sudden impact of bone against flesh. Pushing the winded banshee back, Izuru pointed out the ease of which a non-sword wielder could disarm and subdue an opponent with a long blade. "Be aware, the bad humans will be armed. They will have rifles, shotguns, automatics, mortars, cannon, tanks – you have that blade, it will not protect you."

Tucking her sword behind her, Keladi danced backwards, spun then charged at Izuru. Standing still and expressionless, Izuru waited for the blade to come within her reach before twisting her body out of its path and grabbing it in one hand. She then brought her other hand down on Keladi's wrist, breaking her grip on it. Kicking the fallen sword away, Izuru allowed the banshee's momentum to carry herself into her. Slipping her hands underneath Keladi's armpits, Izuru linked them together behind her neck and pulled her off her feet. Hurling her face forwards onto the floor, Izuru wiped her hands on her robes and went to fetch her cloak.

"Ahh, w-wait," Keladi got to her knees and reclaimed her sword.

"No, you're too young, too inexperienced – a child wanting to play at being a warrior," Izuru fastened the cameleoline around her neck and turned to leave. "You'll be staying in the rear when I meet with the humans. No argument."

"Please," Keladi begged. "I'll try harder, you – you didn't fight me fairly!"

"War is not fair," Izuru said, moving over and squatting down in front of Keladi. "Do you understand me, young one?"

"Yes," Keladi said quietly.

"That is a weapon for sport," Izuru nodded down at the sword in the girl's hand. "This is a weapon for killing," she took out a lasblaster from a holster at her waist. "They'll use weapons like these to kill you. You will do the same – yes, Izuru?"

"Yes, Izuru," Keladi replied.

"I don't want to see that sword out, no matter what your combat doctrine is. You are working for me now. You do as I say, when I say it and nothing else."

"Yes, Izuru."

"Now come, there is a briefing I must attend," Izuru tucked her sidearm away and departed the chamber. Keladi stared down at the runes engraved in her sword for a moment before sheathing it. Fastening her breastplate, she left the sword belt behind and hurried after Izuru.

The high-ceilinged corridors and walkways of the Arabulucu were teeming with crew, warriors and civilians, every one of which was doing something or other. Despite the warship's immense size the thousands of crew along with the cabals of warriors made it seem tightly packed. No space went unused. "Is it true that you killed Princess Saarania, the chief of the Void Dragons?" Keladi asked, dodging around a party of Black Guardians coming the other way. She'd been dying to know, having heard the tale from others' mouths many times.

"Whatever you have heard, it is all true," Izuru glanced back over her shoulder at the banshee who'd flattened herself against the bulkhead to let the procession of Guardians troop past.

"Single-handedly killing so many corsairs – and for a noble cause! To rescue what was stolen from you," Keladi gushed, almost running to catch up with the older woman.

"I didn't–" Izuru's reply was cut short when a Fire Dragon Aspect Warrior shoved passed her.

" _Acayip_ ," he muttered.

Izuru ignored the insult and continued, "I did not succeed alone. A few humans – deserters – assisted me. There was another of our kind there too, named Veen. Without them I would've succumbed to my wounds." As Izuru spoke she felt for the spot in her side where the mark was. It had begun to ache again. It did that now and again, a constant reminder of her brush with death.

"You allied with the humans – on whose authority?" Keladi looked aghast.

"My own – it was either that or submit to the Princess. That monster did not deserve to live after taking my offspring and naming them hers. I smashed her spirit stone, so now she will be forever in The Great Serpent's grasp, her soul never to be admitted to the Infinity Circuit."

Keladi shifted her bone-white helmet in the crook of her arm and hopped up a sweeping flight of stairs, fighting against the flow to stay with Izuru. "Your side…"

"A stab wound – from my own knife."

"Were you not in armour?" Keladi asked. A banshee without her armour was practically naked.

"Rangers are highly mobile sharpshooters that conduct their operations far behind enemy lines. We are expected to be able to cover great distances not just in as little time as possible but also discreetly. Wearing wraithbone would only slow us down," Izuru explained patiently. What she did not tell the young warrior was the armour's lack of adequate protection against shrapnel which to her knowledge was the real killer on the battlefield; not bullets or lasfire.

"I cannot understand how a mere knife wound could–"

"It can," Izuru cut in sharply. "That mere knife wound nearly caused me to exsanguinate."

"How did you survive?" Keladi asked, round-eyed.

"A human performed a blood transfusion and sealed the wound."

Keladi gasped. "But that's imposs–"

"As I said, it is all true," Izuru said.

"Even what they say about your parentage?"

"Yes, though even I do not know the truth about my origins; I do not let affect me. I am as Eldar as you are," Izuru said firmly.

"A human… tainting your blood with his own?" Keladi's face paled, "a sin."

"Had the human not provided for me I would be dead; that is a fact," Izuru said matter-of-factly. Ducking into an alcove she waited for Keladi. Once out of earshot of the crowds, Izuru laid a hand on the younger one's shoulder and fixed her with an intense stare. "Listen to me, child. Humans are not the monsters that you are taught to believe. They are misguided by their leaders, taught to hate anything non-human and driven to slaughter beings like us in the name of their emperor. Monsters fill their ranks, but most are naïve and foolish children like you looking to die for their faith because war is all they know."

"Am I naïve and foolish?" Keladi's face fell.

"Yes, child. I will caution you of the realities of war – it is not pleasant. Your training will not fully prepare you for it, despite what your swordmaster's say," Izuru said gravely.

"Is it frightening?"

"Terrifying but also exhilarating. You may, in time, come to enjoy it."

"I never thought of it that way," Keladi's voice was a nervous whisper. "I just wanted to escape the Craftworld, see the galaxy, meet new species."

"Be careful what you wish for, young one. You may come to regret it."

"But what about you, why throw yourself back into the fray? You're fight is over, you have a family, a life here – it is your home."

"Ulthwé is not my home, child. And as long as Chaos threatens the galaxy, my fight will never be over."

"Gods… this human you speak of, is he one of the good humans?"

Izuru was silent for a beat then nodded, "yes, yes he was."

"Is he dead?"

"I do not know. All I know for certain is that I owe him a life debt. Do you know what that is?"

"Yes."

"Then you know that we Eldar do not take such a thing lightly – now come, we tarry."

"What was his name?"

"No more questions now."

At the circular portal leading into a conference chamber the two were barred entry by a pair of Guardian Defender's wielding fusion pikes. "What is this? Have the ranger and the banshee lost their way?" One said to his companion. Izuru could hear the derision in the Guardian's voice despite the vocal scrambler inside his tall, gold-plated helmet.

"Izuru Numerial. Chief Farseer Ulthran has granted permission for me to attend."

"And the banshee?" the Guardian's helmet tilted as he looked Keladi up and down. "Surely one as young as her should not be privy to such a high-level gathering. Why don't you stay and play with us, little one?" Keladi's hand crept down to her waist, expecting her sword to be there, only for it to grasp at thin air. She looked imploringly at Izuru.

"The banshee is my charge, she comes in too," Izuru said. Keladi's face lit up. Begrudgingly the Guardian Defenders removed their pikes and allowed the pair admittance to the chamber. Keladi's face contorted in a strange grimace as she struggled to keep the huge grin from surfacing. Once past the obnoxious sentinels she unclenched her jaw and laughed, earning her a look from Izuru. "Be silent now, child. We must listen and take heed of the Farseer's words."

"Yes, Izuru," Keladi replied. She ought to have been gripped with fear, afraid of what she would shortly be going into, _this is it, what all my training has been for._ However, mixed with the apprehension was excitement at finally getting to fight the enemy. Of course Izuru's words of warning were simply her being overprotective. What could possibly be so nightmarish about war? The thrill of combat was what Keladi lived for. Dying did not even seem a remote possibility. She knew the God of War, Khaela Mensha Khaine, would guide her on the battlefield to glory. She and her sword would cleave through the foe left and right whilst she sung battle chants in the tongue of Ulthwé. It was her destiny.

* * *

 _Nemesis Tessera…_

Our track lurched to a halt a lot sooner than I'd expected. The violent way the driver had thrown on the brakes jerked us all sideways into one another's shoulders. Caught unawares, I sprayed a mouthful of biscuit crumbs and little flecks of jam out of my mouth, scattering the fragments across the track's interior. Above the general complaints and swearwords I heard someone loudly exclaim, "I'm bleeding!"

"Nah, s'just jam!" I wiped the muck from around my mouth on my sleeve and pulled myself back upright.

"Aw keep yer mouth shut next time, Corp!" The soldier unlucky enough to be on the receiving end of my barrage spat on his hand and tried to rub the little blobs of red jam out of his trousers but to no avail.

"Your time of the month, Munk?" Munk's friends sniggered, earning the nearest a kick from Munk's boot.

"Standby!" Sergeant Scherder grasped an overhead handhold by the rear hatch and motioned us to prepare for a quick debus. "Count your blessings, lads. Steel yourselves. Are you ready to do the Emperor's work!"

"YES, SERGEANT!" the interior of the track echoed. I alone remained silent. Standing beside me, Corporal Antic pressed a loaded .338 magazine into my hand. Nodding in mute gratitude, I slotted the steel into my empty rifle and tensed for the off. Antic tilted the brim of his helmet and smiled. The instant the ramp hit the ground, Scherder ordered us out, "right, debus all of you!"

It was a new hell I now found myself in, vastly different from the battlefields of the previous month. On leaping from the PC's ramp my face was blasted by a gust of wind, temporarily blinding me. Stumbling around in the thin layers of snow covering the hard earth, I felt someone drag me out of the path of a PC. Each track had performed a lighting fast 180 degree pivot and were rolling back the way they'd come as fast as their engines could carry them, not giving a damn who was in their way in the meantime. Antic, my saviour, shouted in my ear, "over there." His outstretched hand was pointing towards a sandbagged bunker ringed by a barbed wire. "Lively!"

Fifty yards to our front, over a barren waste guarded by a long coil of wire, was no-mans' land. Near-constant artillery and mortar fire had utterly destroyed the landscape, literally sweeping away any mass and leaving nothing but shellholes that sunk deep into the earth and gigantic, twisted forests of barbed wire and iron rails welded together as makeshift tank traps that stuck up into the air like broken fingers. The sky above it was the darkest grey I had ever seen, almost black. It looked like something out of a nightmare. I named it The Big Nothing because it was there that nothing lived or grew. And it was where the dead resided.

"You two, get your arses in here!" Scherder, having chivvied the others inside the dugout, now waited on us. "You're on your own bloody time now!"

"Inside, Larn," Antic waited for me to duck underneath the logs covering the entrance before following me in. Scherder, bringing up the rear, pulled a camouflage net across the opening, cutting out the outside light.

"Down there," Scherder pointed away down a dark tunnel. "Follow Antic."

"Thank the Wedges for these," Antic grunted, holding up a lighter. "Only problem is…" he pressed forwards against a narrow portion of the descending tunnel, "…they've all got shoulders narrower than my sister." With much effort, Antic wriggled his way down through the tight, chest-squeezing confines. Coming up behind him I had no such trouble – my only objection was my rifle because its length was far too great to properly carry in such a tight space. Aside from that minor concern neither of my shoulders or my head brushed the damp earth. Besides the smell of unwashed bodies – something I was by now quite used to – the tunnel network felt quite snug. Candles placed in small alcoves provided the light as well as some warmth to the otherwise clammy air.

"Boys, look who I found," Antic announced on exiting the mouth of the tunnel and out into a wider underground chamber lit by several oil lamps. 2 Platoon along with what looked like some of 1 Platoon were sitting against the walls or sprawled in cots. The clink of spoons in mess tins, the sound of mechanisms being cleaned and low chatter buzzed through the room. It ceased abruptly.

"Larn?" a familiar voice cried. Martti Sinric charged forwards and pumped my hand warmly. His face split into gap-toothed grin.

"Alright, Martti," I clasped his hand briefly.

"Hello, Larny," Antti Makala swaggered over threw an arm around me.

"That's Corporal Larny, Private," I said in mock-seriousness.

"Yeah, that's him alright," Erkki appeared at his brother's shoulder. "Lucky bastard gettin' to go all the way back to Haven cause of a little dink to the head."

"Hmph," I snorted, "you still haven't learned anything."

"Aah, who cares?" Martti laughed, "Just glad to have you back, pal."

"Mmm, anyone want a wet?" Antic mounted a small kettle over a portable stove. There was a chorus of 'yes' from many platoon members. By firing up the kettle, Antic was obliged to make tea for everyone. It was given in the Guard that, regardless of rank or branch, every man in boots was entitled to a steaming cup of char at any time; even in bad weather where the technique to achieve the coveted brew was a closely guarded secret known only to us field grunts.

Cramming in a corner with the rest of Delta Fireteam, I ripped open the packet of biscuits and shared them out. Antti, Erkki and Martti, laughing and joking, munched all the way through them in no time at all. It was enough to make me question the quantity of the rations they'd been eating in my absence. Had they been cut? All three lads looked thinner and were much paler than before.

"Here, Larn," Antti passed me a flak jacket he'd been sitting against. Taking the vest into my hands I turned it into the light. Blood had stained the front of it and both breast pockets were shredded. Nevertheless it was better than nothing. "'Nother thing coming your way," Antti tossed a helmet, covered in scrim and netting, over.

"Ta." I didn't ask who they belonged to. It didn't matter. "Oi, where's Staf? Anyone seen Staf?" I realised the last member of my fireteam was missing. Immediately I feared the worst.

"He's fine – he's fine," Antti said quickly.

"Ooh, dunno 'bout that…" Erkki muttered, wrapping a woollen blanket around himself.

"What d'ye mean – what happened?" I looked quizzically between Martti and Staf, a feeling of dread growing in my gut.

"Uh, this was yesterday…?" Martti began.

"Day before," Antti corrected, "Mail came, something for Staf in it. He hasn't said a word since."

"Where is he?" I asked.

"Out towards the firing line," Antic, sitting next to Scherder, pointed at a white sign with black letters painted on it beside another tunnel, showing the way to the firing line. "He won't talk to anyone. I've tried, Sarn't Scherder's tried… but nothing."

"I'll try," I shrugged.

"Fine – won't make any difference though."

Armed with two mugs of tea I left the two platoons' area and walked in a half-crouch upwards towards the surface. Careful not to slosh too much of the contents, I twisted sideways on encountering a particularly narrow chokepoint. "Who's there?" a flat, toneless voice sounded from the darkness.

"That you, Staf?" I hissed. "What ye doin' way out here?"

"Go away, I don't want to talk."

"Oh come on, I brought you a wet – made specially."

"…James?" It quickly dawned on Staf who it was that had found him.

"Right in one, mate," I rounded a corner and found Staf sitting on the tunnel floor with his legs crossed.

"Thought you were dead… that artillery," Staf breathed. "Sorry 'bout this – I'm just…"

"S'alright, don't have to talk about it," I handed Staf a mug and sat down next to him. "Mmm, good brew."

"In here," Staf showed me a crumpled piece of paper. "This is three months old – s'how long it's taken to reach me."

"Yeah?"

"It's my girlfriend."

"She okay?"

"She's pregnant."

I was silent for a moment, unsure of how to approach, "well, congratulations, mate."

"It's not mine," Staf replied.

"What?"

"She wrote me and said she'd met a naval officer who was working a desk job that would never get him posted offworld. She says she's fallen in love with him."

"Sorry, Staf, I'm sorry," I laid a hand on Staf's shoulder and squeezed. What a heart-breaking thing that was to know. I couldn't imagine how the poor lad felt.

"We were always very physical, very intimate together. She needed a lot of love. She said she just got too lonely," Staf's voice began to strain. "She was – she was my everything; now I got nothing left—" breaking off, Staf began to sob. "I'm alone..."

I could offer no words of comfort, none that Staf would want to hear anyway, so I let him ventilate. It took a while, long enough for the tea to go cold. I hoped he'd got it all out. But by the end I think he just wanted to be left alone. Grasping me by the arm as I stood up to leave, Staf pleaded with me not to tell anyone else. I agreed. That was all I could do for him.

Sergeant Scherder cornered me back in the platoon area. "I've been asked to report in to Kaukasios, you need to do so too."

"Why've I gotta come along, Sarn't?" I groaned. Kaukasios was the absolute last person I wanted to see now I was back on the line. It had been a fantasy of mine that he'd been killed in the counterattack against the flamethrowers despite having been conspicuously absent at the time. The reality I now discovered was a lot different.

The Company Commander's quarters were located much further back from the line in a bombed-out factory that had been hastily fortified. There was a stark division between our holes in the ground and the rooms that Captain Kaukasios had commandeered as I noticed, to my disgust, on coming up from underground into the sheltered factory.

"Halt! Advance and speak the Emperor's" a voice growled from behind a tall wall of hardbags. In the darkness I glimpsed a muzzle thrust through a narrow slit, aimed at us.

"If you shoot me I'll come back and haunt you," Scherder casually deflected the overzealous trooper's challenge. "Do you really think infiltrators would make as much noise as us?"

"Pardon, Sarn't, can't be too careful out 'ere," the sentry retracted his stubber from the firing slit and waved us forwards. As we passed by the emplacement, the sentry murmured in Scherder's ear, "Kaukasios been ridin' us like a virgin whore, watch yourself."

"Expected nothing less," Scherder nodded and winked. "Let's go, Corporal."

Cain Company's command post housed the usual rear-echelon types that would soil themselves at the thought of the frontline. Hunched over desks, noses brushing screens and fingers working furiously, Kaukasios subordinates were doing everything in their power to perform their tasks at peak efficiency, lest they attract their domineering CO's attention and get sent to the firing line.

"Sir, Sergeant Scherder and Corporal Larn reporting to the Company Commander as ordered," Scherder announced our presence to Kaukasios, his adjutant and the rest of the HQ.

"Come!" Kaukasios had his back to us and was bending over a vox set with one ear pressed to a headset. Stubbing a cigarette into an ashtray, he turned around to face us. Kaukasios' hair, normally oiled and clean, was unwashed and had collected a fine layer of dust. I saw a small scar above his right eyebrow. Other than the tiny cut he was unwounded. His uniform was just as immaculate as it had been before. It was quite plain that he had never even been to the front yet was abusing his authority and lording it over his headquarters. How I pitied them.

"Sergeant, welcome back – you as well, Corporal," Kaukasios smiled sincerely. Somewhat too sincerely I noted. There was no warmth in his eyes, just the familiar, cold ruthlessness and contempt for the lower ranks. "Thank you, gentlemen, you are dismissed," Kaukasios brusquely dismissed his orderly and any nearby staff. "Please sit down, make yourself comfortable," he offered Scherder a chair and sat down across from him. I was left to stand. _What's his game then? He's never this nice._

"Thank you, sir," Scherder unslung his Lecta, propping it against a metal strut where Kaukasios lascarbine – unfired I suspected – hung by its strap from a rusty nail. Soft music was playing in the background, a piece unfamiliar to me that originated from a gramophone.

"Well now that you're back – and I'm glad you're back, I think we should make a fresh start together," Kaukasios said to me and Scherder. "Firstly – Lance Corporal!" Kaukasios addressed me, "you are a lucky man, Lance Corporal – for the battalion commander has relayed to me that all summary executions are to be postphoned until after the our mission has been accomplished – or should I say, Corporal!" He revealed a pair of brand new Corporal's chevrons and reached over to give them to me. My wooden expression remained unchanged. The bastard was blackmailing me now, trying to hoik me into his pocket. I didn't buy it. "Your promotion does not seem to have much of an effect," Kaukasios said.

"No, sir, it doesn't," I accepted the stripes without comment and pocketed them.

"Have you nothing to say?"

"No, sir," I refused to meet Kaukasios' stare. To do so would be to submit to him. I would fight him all the way if I had to.

Kaukasios' pleasant demeanour faltered momentarily, "out of my sight!" He snapped. Scherder, sitting to one side, glared knives at his CO.

"Yes, sir," my teeth were clamped solidly together. I stamped to attention, trying to make it as loud as possible, about-faced and marched away, the hatred I felt towards the officer threatening to boil over.

"Ungrateful little shit," Kaukasios flicked open a gold-engraved lighter and lit another cigarette. "If Corporal Larn steps out of line one more time he will be written off as a disciplinary case."

"Corporal Larn has just returned from hospital, sir. He suffered a bad concussion."

"That is no excuse, Sergeant. All non-commissioned officers as well as the other ranks should display the proper degree of respect towards their officers. They are their superiors and their betters. Men like Corporal Larn _must_ know their place," Kaukasios waved his cigarette for emphasis.

"Weren't all disciplinary cases to be withheld until the cessation of operations in this sector, Captain?" Scherder said. "Words that came from your own mouth just a second ago?"

"Bah!" Kaukasios took a long drag and exhaled. "There will be no more talk on the subject. The main point is, regiment feels – or believes – that I deserve the Star of Terra now." Scherder's bored expression hardened. He stiffened and looked Kaukasios squarely in the eye. "And they have asked me to produce two witnesses to the fact that I led the counterattack against the flamethrowers and turned back their assault."

Scherder looked back down at the floor. He could scarcely believe Captain Kaukasios was trying to wheedle his way into a gong – stealing the late Lieutenant Meinerz' laurels that he'd given his life for and completely disregarding any involvement the young subaltern had in the counterattack. The image of the mortally wounded Meinerz dragging himself across the piles of bodies to finish off the enemy's last flamer with his sidearm played itself back in Scherder's mind. Kaukasios – the arrogant, cowardly, manipulative snob – now had it in his mind that he could sneakily place himself in a combat engagement of which he was absent and be presented with the decoration that rightly belonged to Paul Meinerz.

 _Bastard_ , Scherder sat with his hands in his lap, a cool fire pulsing through his veins. He had not felt such a pure, unbridled loathing for a person in all his forty-nine years.

"I have named Commissar Kazel and you, especially you," Kaukasios pointed again with his cigarette. _Nor was Kazel anywhere near the front_ , Scherder's eyebrows shot up at the mention of the conspicuously absent Commissar. "Commissar Kazel has already submitted his signature…" Kaukasios reached for a thin sheaf of yellow papers fastened together with a clip and offered them to Scherder. The veteran's pale eyes fixed on the documents for a beat before mechanically accepting them. "Here," Kaukasios gave Scherder a fountain pen to sign.

"Am I to believe that this is a… private conversation?" Scherder scanned the blank space above the dotted line.

Kaukasios laughed and waved a finger, "that would occur to you, wouldn't it? Alright, have a glass of Sacra," Kaukasios produced a dark green bottle and put it on the table alongside two drinking glasses. "I'll have some." Scherder took the bottle and pulled out the cork. Blowing the dust away from the rim, he filled Kaukasios' glass, "very good, thank you, Sergeant." Scherder tilted the bottle back upwards and raised it in a mock toast before taking a long gulp. "But still remember that in civilian life as well as military life a distinction is made between people."

"A difference, sir?"

"The difference, yes," Kaukasios stood up and, loosening the silk scarf around his neck, paced around the steel strut. "The difference is a matter of uh, ethical and intellectual superiority which is caused, whether you like it or not, by blood and by class difference."

"If I remember correctly…" Scherder stifled a loud burp before continuing. "That Borens, the renowned philosopher was the son of a lowly Rogue Trader who'd made neither a significant discovery in the uncharted regions nor even a credit to his name. And Kyme Aerion, a great artist, came from an impoverished upbringing yet went on to do great things."

"Indeed, absolutely correct," Kaukasios nodded in agreement.

"Perhaps, character, talent, sensitivity are no longer privileges of the so-called upper-class," Scherder took another great swig from the bottle.

"But Borens and Aerion were exceptions. We are talking about general concepts – not individuals."

"But I am one, and so are you. Didn't your government say – a very long time ago – that all class distinctions were to be abolished and that all people would live equally in the eyes of the Emperor?"

Kaukasios flew to his feet, his cigarette tumbling from his grip. All traces of his warm façade had vanished, replaced by a tranquil fury. "I am an officer in His Divine Majesty's Astra Militarum. I am a Bellerophonian Aristocrat – I don't want to be put in the same category as those fools devoted to the Imperial Cult!"

Scherder remained passive. "Well then we agree for once."

"Good," Kaukasios returned to his chair. "But he is still our Emperor."

" _Unfortunately_ ," Scherder said under his breath.

Kaukasios tutted, "oh that is – that is a different question, Sergeant. It is not up to us to judge nor to even discuss."

"Why d'you want it so badly?" Scherder pulled a medal from his breast pocket. Kaukasios' eyes gleamed as they saw the Star of Terra in the NCO's hand. "It's just a piece of worthless metal – look!" Scherder tossed it onto Kaukasios' desk.

"It's not worthless to me," Kaukasios whispered, looking down longingly at the crimson ribbon.

"Why is it so important to you? Tell me, Captain, why?" Scherder leant forwards, expecting another outburst.

Kaukasios however was silent, almost meek. "Sergeant, if I go back to Bellerophon without the Star of Terra, I couldn't face my family."

Scherder stared long and hard at the officer before raising the near-empty bottle again, "well personally, sir, I don't think you deserve the Star of Terra." Downing the last of the Sacra, Scherder picked up his Lecta and slung it over his shoulder. A familiar sidearm as well as a pair of ID tags, blackened by fire, lying on the tabletop, caught his eye. Kaukasios made no move to prevent Scherder taking them. "I see Lieutenant Meinerz no longer has need of his tags, nor his weapon." Kaukasios said nothing. He was transfixed by the medal Scherder had left. Without another word, Scherder excused himself.

With cigarette held between index and middle finger, I blew smoke from my lungs. The chamber was filled with the stench of bad hygiene, namely sweaty crotches, bad wind and damp armpits. The only way to relieve the sinuses was to smoke. We all did it, me, Martti, Antti and Erkki. Staf was still absent. I wondered what Kaukasios was discussing with Scherder. It had crossed my mind that I hadn't seen Paul Meinerz at all despite his platoon being with us. Where was he? Sergeant Scherder's return answered my question in brief form. "What the Company Commander want, Sarn't?" Antti asked.

"He being jack as ten again?" Erkki added.

Scherder ignored them and stopped by me. "Here, this was Lieutenant Meinerz's. I don't want it," he placed a handgun on the ground beside me. "He liked you. It's what he would've wanted."

The heavily worn stub pistol held no interest for me. I felt a gap open up in my stomach as I saw the pair of tags in Scherder's hands. _No, not Paul Meinerz!_ The revelation was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. I felt as though I'd lost a friend. The only ally we had in the officer's ranks was gone.

Later on when night has fallen, I lay underneath a blanket listening to the snores and the occasional expulsion of wind whilst thinking about Meinerz. The unfairness of the tough, lead-by-example subaltern being killed instead of the smarmy prig of a captain was maddening. How was it that men like Meinerz were killed whilst awful men like Kaukasios pulled through each and every time, none the worse for wear? Scherder had said that he would write the man's family. Meinerz had married just before being shipped out, Scherder revealed. The wife had given birth shortly afterwards. The infant son would now grow up without ever knowing his father. Paul Meinerz was twenty-six years of age. He would never grow older.

I had thought it impossible for me to submit to tears. I had said, somewhere back down the line that I was done crying. Thinking about the young officer made my throat tighten and my eyes grow wet. _Who decides such things?_ But there was no one in the galaxy who could answer me.


	24. Chapter 23

Morning cycle/M41/02-40.999/Imperial Naval Listening Post 'Astana 27'/Nemesis Sector/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

Nemesis' star cast a bright white outline around the ringed gas giant known as Verloren. Trapped behind the planet, the star was now creeping around, soon to cast its rays across the system. Astana 27, or Two-Seven as it was known, was in the perfect spot to watch the sun make its entrance. Positioned right at the edge of the Nemesis Sector, Astana 27 had the unenviable and uneventful task of monitoring the sector's perimeter, keeping a vigilant eye out for the occasional pirate vessel or spoiling raid launched by a restless Chaos band and report it back. Their bosses, working from a much larger central command vessel orbiting Nemtess, were simply known to them as Zero. It was they who decoded the information and passed it onto Segmentum Command who would then, hopefully, act accordingly.

 _Here it comes, my favourite time of the day._ The Chief Petty Officer was not due to start his shift for another thirty-five minutes, but he had to see the sun coming up. He'd risen early just for that. Sipping the piping-hot tea from his navy blue mug, the Chief watched a barren world, Grendt, slip out from behind Verloren. The dead world had aligned almost perfectly with the, much larger, gas giant and very soon the sun would be thrusting its light between them. It would be a dazzling spectacle. The Chief was so mesmerised with the rings of light that it took him a few seconds to realise the proximity alert was beeping. _Hello, what's this?_ He switched over to the long-ranged auspex and sent out a ping, not expecting anything to bounce back. When a trill sounded in his headset, the Chief scrambled to rouse the listening post's other crew. Within minutes the seven other men were all manning their stations, anxiously extending their powerful auspex out to beyond the sector's boundaries. "Contact." The word sent the Chief's heart into overdrive. But something else happened then that nearly made it stop altogether.

The sun was dimming. Something massive was moving inbetween the two planets where the sun's light should've been. "How many of them?" the LP's Warrant Officer asked.

"Unknown number, too many to count. It's coming up as just one single, large mass on my scope."

"It's a fleet," the Chief breathed. Blowing up his image, he looked at the black shapes standing out in front of the white sun. The shapes were too tiny to count but it now became starkly clear that it was a Chaos fleet, one of huge proportions. _There's thousands of them,_ the Chief felt his right hand begin to tremble. His untouched tea had grown cold. There was a rumour going round that a picquet had spotted warships on the sector boundaries. It was enough to send the unprepared Navy into a flap and hastily withdraw its patrols to regroup in a nearby sector. So this was it then.

"Transmit to Two-Zero, get him to pass it onto Zero – priority one – Astana 27 spotted Chaos fleet moving into sector, numbers in treble figures," the WO said calmly to the communications officer.

The Chief's eyes were riveted on the growing number of specks inbetween Verloren and Grendt. It did not seem possible for a host as large as this to steal into the sector undetected. The size of the fleet, spanning from planet to planet, was jaw-dropping. There were tiny specks scattered about with little semblance of order, clustered around much larger vessels that were irregularly shaped as if their superstructure had been tainted by the warp itself. Together, their numbers blotted out the sun.

"Two-Zero's got the message. It's on its way to Nemtess. We've done our job gentlemen. The Emperor's proud of you," the Warrant Officer announced. He hesitated for a moment, conscious that the other seven men were looking to him for orders. Clearing his throat, he kept his voice as level as possible before saying, "standby to await further orders."

 _That's it, there's nothing else we can do_. The Chief felt for the photograph of him, his wife and his daughters he always kept in his breast pocket. Propping it up beside the glowing screen, he reached for his cold tea and sat back to wait.

* * *

 _The Arabulucu..._

Tucked away in a corner of the Battleship's cavernous hangar bay, Keladi perched atop a crate of fusion cartridges, awaiting Izuru's return. The Arabulucu's hangar was one vast, circular complex that ran all the way around the ship, separated by portals near the distant ceiling which were each wide enough to allow a light cruiser to pass through with room to breathe. Spread across the kilometre-wide floorspace, messy with cables, wires and humming generators, were dozens of fish-shaped troopships, all lined up neatly in their berths ready to be fired through their respective launch tubes and out into the vacuum.

Crowding the space not taken up by the ships, gantries and machinery was squad after squad of Black Guardians. The Guardians were the most numerous party, making up three eighths of the expeditionary force's ground troops. Their gold helmets stuck up above the heads of the other units making them easily identifiable in the masses. Dotted here and there were other, no less numerous, troops of warriors. The blue and white Dire Avengers, the ones with the striped plumes on their helmets, resting their exotic Shuriken Catapults on the deck and conversing quietly with one another, were keeping themselves separate, not wishing to mix with beings from other units. Striking Scorpions, adorned in fine green aspect armour with gold lining were sharpening their chainswords and doing equipment checks. Out of all the Aspect Warriors, they were the killers, their lust for battle far succeeding any other unit as well as their confirmed kills. They – rightfully – held the fear and respect, though more the former, of each and every Eldar, serving or otherwise. Out of the way of the thickest gatherings were six or seven pairs of brightly-coloured Fire Dragons, whose livery, rather than be just a pretty colour – bright red and yellow – served as a warning to any who were nearby to keep out of their way, or rather their fusion gun's way.

Keladi felt a pang on seeing a group of Howling Banshee's sitting beside or leaning against a stack of weapon crates. Only the Banshee's wore pure white armour, allowing them instant recognition. Everyone knew who you were when you walked down a crowded street on Ulthwé wearing the green and white sash. It was a symbol of respect, one to be worn with pride of being counted amongst their number. To Keladi though, it was a mark of damnation.

Gazing down at the sash hanging limply between her dangling legs, she felt ashamed. She'd tried her hardest to live up to the ideals of the Banshee's, to follow their creed to the letter but had fallen short. The mockery of her fellow initiates had threatened to tear her up inside, such was the gut-wrenching pain of being ostracised by whom she had thought of as sisters. To cope with it she had hidden herself behind a lively and eager façade which, right now, was what she had to keep up constantly. However the strain of it was starting to wear her down. The prospect of her real self being ousted terrified her.

Several times Keladi had seen a few bare-headed banshee's glance at her. Perhaps they were wondering why their lone sister sat apart from the rest. Perhaps they knew who she was and that was why they chose to stay away.

Looking down at her helmet resting beside her, Keladi ran a hand along the crimson mane that spilled from the crown. It was unbrushed and had picked up dirt from somewhere – not satisfactory. The real banshee's always maintained a high standard of cleanliness in accordance with the grooming standard, both with their bodies, their weapons and their armour. Keladi, to them, was scruffy, therefore unacceptable.

It wasn't her fault that she had difficulty reading or following instructions, nor that she was slower than the rest of her class, a worse swordswoman and possessing physical defects. The latter hurt her the most, but not as much as the barbed comments that came because of it. How could she justify having six fingers on her left hand or her right breast being slightly larger than the left. It wasn't her fault but she was bullied for it nonetheless.

"Keladi," Izuru had returned. The ranger stared up at her from the deck below. Her vision blurring momentarily, Keladi shook her head clear and picked up her helmet before leaping down. "You do not consort with your brethren?" Izuru indicated the banshee's across the crowds.

Tucking her helmet underneath her arm, Keladi replied, "I do not think I am deserving of their company."

"Why would you not be deserving of their company? They are your sisters," Izuru folded her arms, glancing over the sea of heads. Keladi did not answer, just raised her left hand. "All I see is your hand, child."

"Please look, I am an imperfect specimen –a freak" Keladi whispered, her flat expression struggling to keep from cracking. "You know more than I that physical imperfection on Ulthwé is a crime."

"Right, look," Izuru took Keladi's hand and guided her around the side of the stacked containers, out of sight of any unwanted attention. "Look at my face – look!" Izuru pointed at her scarred cheek. "What does this say to you?"

"Half-breed?" Keladi said slowly, before quickly adding, "I do not mean to offend."

"The face of an outcast, but one who has accepted that is what she is and chooses to continue on regardless of the hate. Hate is a powerful weapon, Keladi, but one that can be overcome with the right protection. I choose to don the mantle of the outcast, the half-breed, the freak, and wear it with pride. You must do so to. Wear it as your armour, then it can never be used to hurt you."

"Yes, Izuru," Keladi nodded, yet not really understanding what the other had meant.

"Did that make sense?"

"No."

"You'll learn, in time, when it becomes routine. What is most important is that you never forget what you are in the meantime – now come, we will shortly be departing."

"I – I'm not sure I can do this," Keladi stuttered as she followed Izuru through the packs of warriors, unaware of the many pairs of eyes following her.

"Now is the time to be afraid, child. If you wish to throw up, relieve yourself – both – then I will advise you to do it now – it is normal." Izuru slowed her pace, allowing Keladi to catch up. "Observe your kin's mannerisms. Many of them have also never tasted combat and are just as scared as you are." Izuru discreetly pointed out a few warriors displaying nervous tics. A helmetless Black Guardian was constantly pacing about and rolling his shoulders and neck. A Banshee, though her face was hidden by her helmet, had her right hand hidden behind her back. Every few seconds she would clench and unclench her black gauntlet to prevent it from trembling. An assistant gunner of a Fire Dragon team, fumbling with his No.1's ammunition, had his jaw set tightly and was blinking furiously, trying to keep a cool demeanour. "No one is unaffected, not even the biggest and the strongest."

"Am I a coward for feeling fear?" Keladi asked quietly.

"We all feel fear, more than ever before an operation. All the emotions tumbling around inside you are completely normal. You are not a special case." The words did little to soothe Keladi's anxiously beating heart. She was beginning to regret volunteering so rashly for an offworld assignment.

"Izuru Numerial?" a tall, black-haired Autarch clad in white robes worn over heavy Aspect Armour, called out from the ramp of a troopship.

"Autarch," Izuru stopped and made the sign of Ulthwé to him then briefly clasped his arm when he introduced himself.

"I am Anon Brightfire. I have been ordered to guard you and your charge," Anon smiled and bowed his head.

"Well met, Autarch," Izuru's expression did not soften but she bowed her head nonetheless. Keladi was taken slightly aback at the Autarch's politeness.

"It is customary for a delegation to have a bodyguard. I and nine handpicked Guardians shall provide your escort."

"Gratitude, Autarch."

"I am proud to serve under such an esteemed warrior. I shall guard you and all that you own with my life," Anon looked past Izuru at Keladi. "I do not believe we've ever met, fair maiden." Keladi looked away, embarrassed at the Autarch's attention.

"Ten is all that was provided? A trifle for such an occasion, is it not?"

Anon Brightfire smiled warmly, "we would not want to alarm the humans with such a show of force now, would we?"

"No, we would not," Izuru replied. "Have your men been briefed?"

"Thoroughly. Our mission is to protect you and provide escort to your meeting with the humans."

"What are your rules concerning enemy engagement?"

"If engagement is unavoidable, we will willingly lay down our lives to protect the ambassador and the message she carries. The safety of the ambassador comes first."

"Shall we discuss this further onboard?" Izuru gestured at the waiting vessel.

"After you, My Lady," Anon stepped aside to allow Izuru to pass. "I am told we shall be egressing from the Webway in a very short time—"

"—Good, the sooner we make contact with the humans, the better. Keladi!" Izuru glanced over her shoulder at the Banshee whose attention had wandered. "We are leaving."

Keladi watched the Autarch and Izuru converse as she followed them up the boarding ramp and inside the troopship's interior. The words, _enemy engagement_ , rang in her ears. Possibly, in the not-so-near future, she might find herself being required to kill. Her enemy, up until now, had always existed in her mind or as a holographic caricature of a Warp-corrupted Chaos militiaman she'd fought during training sessions. Then it had been easy. The enemy had been dehumanised and simply a target to cut down with her sword. It wouldn't be like that on the battlefield. As much as it galled her to think, down there it would be them or her. It made Keladi wonder whether she could do it. Could she find it in her to kill a living, breathing person with the sword as easily as she would slice up food and live with it?

* * *

 _Nemtess…_

Lieutenant Colonel Gausser shouted furiously down the line at Captain Kaukasios. With the constant crashing nearby from falling artillery, both men had to convene in raised voices to make themselves heard.

"Why the hell wasn't I informed of Two-Zero Alpha's return to the battalion?" Gausser repeated for the second time. It seemed Kaukasios had neglected to mention Cojen Scherder's return from the hospital. Gausser desperately needed to speak with the NCO on a matter of extreme urgency.

"I am sorry, sir, there were more pressing issues I needed to deal with," Kaukasios replied.

"I want him here at once. It is about a predicament of which I am sure you do not need to be reminded – clear, Zero-Alpha?"

"Quite clear, sir," Kaukasios replied, waiting for Gausser to terminate on his end before slamming the receiver down. He nearly did a double take on noticing Commissar Kazel in the bunker. He did not recall inviting him back into the company CP.

"I don't like the tone of his voice," Kaukasios said dourly. "I am fed up with the whole situation. Well, it doesn't matter anymore. I know from reliable sources that Segmentum Command has already written off this front – if not the whole planet! And soon the Nemtess will become the arse end of a bag – with us being thrust further and further from the opening." He snapped his fingers at Kazel, "I want you to report to Gausser immediately." Kazel said nothing. Kaukasios leant closer and continued in a whisper. "If you were to choose between Haven or servitude under the ruinous powers, what would you choose? They castrate commissars you know. No more night time encounters with your boy, Gurd." Kaukasios could see the unveiled animosity in Kazel's eyes, hating the officer for his vile manipulations but powerless to do anything about it. Keeping his mouth shut, the Commissar spun on his heel and left the dugout.

The battalion CP had quietened by the time Sergeant Scherder arrived. It was entirely deserted except for Colonel Gausser, Captain Glowna and a comms NCO. Colonel Gausser rose to greet the veteran and shook his hand. "Scherder," he smiled warmly.

"Colonel," Scherder did not return the affable gesture, just glanced at Captain Glowna who stood off to one side with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Sit down, please," Gausser sat down at a long table, offering Scherder the chair opposite. "How was hospital?"

"Interesting – I recommend it," Scherder removed his cap and ran a hand over his grey buzz.

"Just Macharius or were you shipped back to Haven?"

"Just Macharius, sir, I was not so lucky. One of my corporals, Larn, was sent back to Haven."

"Very young chap, slight, dark blond hair I seem to remember? A lance corporal…?"

"Full corporal, sir. Captain Kaukasios informed Corporal Larn of his promotion yesterday."

"Ah, that's the man. These little things have a tendency to slip my mind – too many other responsibilities see, can't keep track of every promotion in the battalion." Glancing down at the table, Gausser paused for a brief moment before saying, "I want to discuss with you the matter of Kaukasios. Did you see him leading the counterattack against the flamethrowers the day Lieutenant Meinerz was killed?"

It was Scherder's turn to play mute, for a second at least, until he spoke up, "Lieutenant Meinerz led the counterattack, Captain Kaukasios was nowhere to be seen."

"You are sure of this?" Gausser asked.

Scherder's eyes were hollow, his voice flat and toneless. "I saw Lieutenant Meinerz die. He gave his life to silence a flamer that was threatening the safety of his platoon."

"Fetch Kazel," Gausser said to Glowna. Scherder rose and made to leave. "No, stay, I want you to listen." With some reluctance, Scherder remained rooted. He watched the freshly turned-out Commissar – somehow wearing a spotless uniform – march into the dugout and present himself to Colonel Gausser.

"Good evening, Colonel," Kazel clicked his heels.

"You signed a statement saying you witnessed Captain Kaukasios lead his company in a counterattack against the militia. Were you present at the time?"

Kazel glanced across at Scherder nervously. The look in the latter's eyes was unsettling and even more so on the receiving end of it. The streak of fear inside his belly uncurled and made the hairs on his arm stand on end. Those eyes, of the palest blue, were killers' eyes. Despite this Kazel cleared his throat and said, "I accompanied Captain Kaukasios onto the battlefield and saw him calling several men to his aid. Before the company went into the gas, Captain Kaukasios sent me back to the CP."

"If Captain Kaukasios sent you back to the CP then how do you know _he_ personally led the counterattack? You signed a statement to that effect, Commissar," Gausser picked up a set of papers lying on the table in front of him. Setting them straight, Gausser blew off a fresh coating of dust and indicated them to Kazel.

"I wasn't there. I learned of it from wounded men who were returning from the battle."

"Names, Kazel, I need names. Did you know any of these wounded men?"

Kazel shrugged subtly, a gesture not lost on Scherder who was glaring overtly at the political officer. "They were not in the company headquarters, just platoon members. I knew them only by sight. Besides, the gas made it difficult to see, sir. I could not be sure who was who. Everyone was wearing their masks."

The command post was shaken by a particularly violent explosion outside. Gausser waited for the noise to subside then turned his attention to the statement. "I want you to know, Commissar, that I have had your statement checked thoroughly. Captain Glowna, would you care to inform the Commissar of the results of our investigation?"

Captain Glowna, holding onto a wooden post for balance, limped over to a side table and drew a clipboard out from a chest. "Our investigation so far has disclosed that the men in Cain Company, 1 Neria, who took part in the action declared unanimously that the action was led by Lieutenant Meinerz and Staff Sergeant Scherder. None of them saw Captain Kaukasios or Commissar Kazel." Glowna finished with a cold stare at Kazel, one to rival Scherder's. Withering under the cold stares of the officers and Scherder, Kazel's throat tightened. He swallowed, hard.

Gausser stroked his chin pensively, letting the silence take hold for a moment. He said, "I am not a fool. I do not like glory-hunters. In my mind there is nothing more contemptible than stealing the laurels which properly belong to a man who was killed whilst selflessly defending his comrades-in-arms. Such an act deserves the highest honours. Paul Meinerz was a good man, a great leader who always placed the needs of his men above his own." Leaning back in his chair, Gausser linked his fingers together and continued. "It is the officer who serves his men, not the other way around. It is something, I think, that has been lost on you, Commissar, and Captain Kaukasios. To some, the Imperial soldier is a valuable resource, to be respected and provided for appropriately. But there are others who think of nothing more than sending young men – boys –over the top and forwards into enemy gunfire again and again to satisfy their superiors and to obtain the promotion and decorations they hunger for. Men like those are not fit to serve in my battalion and will be punished accordingly. If Sergeant Scherder stands by his last testimony, I shall be referring you to the Commissariat who will then carry out the proceedings. Captain Kaukasios will be facing disciplinary charges in a court of law once the battalion is stood down. Do I make myself clear, Commissar?"

"Yes, Colonel."

Gausser turned to Scherder, "do you stand by your statement that Captain Kaukasios was not with the company?"

More bangs as incoming artillery landed nearby. The lights dimmed for a second. Neither Sergeant Scherder nor Captain Glowna moved or even blinked. Kazel shot a worried look at Scherder. "Would it be possible for me to give my answer in a few days, sir?" Scherder muttered. Truth be told he was sick to death of the war between himself, Kaukasios and command. The stress of returning to frontline duty compiled with the business with Meinerz and Kaukasios had stretched his nerves to breaking point.

"Did you see Kaukasios or not?" Gausser said, trying to keep his voice level. Scherder sighed and slumped against the wooden post. Seeing he wasn't about to give a concise answer, Gausser dismissed Kazel. Once the Commissar had left, Gausser turned on Scherder, "what in the Almighty's name has got into you? This is your chance, to get even with Kaukasios! You are the only person that stands between Kaukasios and his Star of Terra. You could be called as a primary witness against him in a court of honour!"

Scherder rubbed his bleary eyes, fixing his gaze on the dirt. Replacing his cap, he said. "My differences with Captain Kaukasios are a personal matter…"

"Now, listen to me. You know that both I and Captain Glowna have always shown a great deal of understanding for you, but I have grown sick of battling with your superiors because of this insubordinate streak of yours."

"I never asked you to."

"Didn't ask me to!" Gausser rose from his chair and strode over to Scherder. "Didn't ask me to, have you taken leave of your mind?"

"Scherder, why are you so ungrateful?" Glowna said quietly.

"What do I have to be grateful for, Captain? Your tolerance? Do you think that just because you and Colonel Gausser are more enlightened than most officers that I hate you any less?" Scherder paused. Gausser was silent. "I hate all officers, commissars, all the Kaukasios', all the Kazel's, all the Star of Terra hunters in the whole Imperial Guard."

"Have you any idea what you are saying?" Gausser's voice had lowered. There was now a bitingly-sharp edge to it.

"Do you know how much I hate this uniform, and everything it stands for? That symbol…" Scherder eyed the silver aquila on the Colonel's breast. "That symbol is the reason why I have no family, no father, no mother, no wife. It has taken everything from me, _yet still it finds ways to twist the knife in deeper_." Scherder now spoke quietly, yet there was a passion in his voice, a passionate hatred of all things Imperial.

Gausser stared at Scherder then shook his head, "get out, just get out."

Excusing himself, Scherder turned and left the bunker. The bitter exchange then left Gausser's mind when the vox unit trilled. "Sir, brigade headquarters," the comms NCO passed the receiver over to Gausser.

 _What now?_ Gausser slumped in his chair, exhausted. "Thank you," he clamped the headset over one ear and held the mic in one hand. "Sunray speaking."

"Hello Sunray, Zero speaking," the deep voice of Brigadier General Vorbeck, GOC of Nerian 3rd Division, sounded in Gausser's ear. "Segmentum Command has ordered your battalion along with all other 228th elements to fall back to Point Faal with all haste. You are to bypass Point Linse and Point Sarl, SEGCOM advises not to leave any rearguard, just to pull out as fast as you can and consolidate at Point Sarl."

Point Linse was the codeword for Camp Macharius. _We cannot be abandoning the entire base!_ The words hit Gausser hard. Was it possible that SEGCOM was writing off the Nemesis Front completely? It was such a waste of men, material and effort with nothing to show for it.

Point Sarl was a city, Nemtess's capital, Karamaya. It lay many kilometres to the west of Camp Macharius and, as opposed to the fortified camp, not easily defendable. The only strategic value it had was a large railhead that led back approximately sixty klicks to a spaceport – the only one on the entire planet with facilities to accommodate large military vessels.

Lifting his finger from the talk button, Gausser sighed. Then, when he was ready to reply, he pressed it down, "yes, sir. I didn't know it was as bad as that. I am very sorry to hear it."

"Make sure your battalion is out before dawn. I've specially requested an armoured squadron to stage a feint from the north to give the enemy something to play with in the meantime. Good luck, out."

"Well?" Glowna looked worried at the Colonel's dark expression.

"We're pulling back to the bridgehead at Karamaya to defend the railway. It leads straight to the spaceport and must be held at all costs. No rearguard. Not even Scherder's platoon."

"That bad, sir?"

"Worse. We are not retreating, we are running."

* * *

Light flickered from the oil lamp, growing weaker by the minute. I lay stretched out, leaning on one elbow. Beside me was Paul Meinerz's sidearm, lying on a rag, broken into the five main pieces minus the magazine. I'd felt guilty at being handed it to keep, knowing it had been in Meinerz's hands when he died. It wasn't mine. I was just hanging onto it for him. It didn't help that every time I looked at it I remembered the young officer's friendly face and his aura of quiet confidence he so effortlessly carried with him. I wished fervently I could carry myself in the same manner. He was a born leader, a soldier who I would've followed all the way into the Eye of Terror if I had to. Now like with so many other young men I had known in my short time in the Imperial Guard, he was dead.

The five pieces went back together seamlessly. Holding the unloaded weapon in the light, I squinted at the lighter shade of metal inside the ejection port. Any markings on it or on the slide had worn away over time. All I could make out were some letters and numbers - WaA140 – not that that told me anything. As with the .45 Volg I had previously carried it was a very old model, likely a hand-me-down and old enough for it to take obsolete ammunition. It was probably useless as a combat pistol owing to the smaller calibre. The only upside to it were the rounds were flat-headed hollow points. Even then there were only thirteen of them in the magazine. Once I'd had them that was it. Clicking the magazine back in, I stuffed the pistol into my pack and pulled my itchy, woollen blanket tighter around me.

"…gonna go see first," a whispered voice carried to my ears. Sitting upright, I noticed Corporal Rauer, Tozar and Stimm along with Erkki creep out of the chamber and into a tunnel.

"Erkki? Where ye going?" Shoving the blanket off, I followed the little party into the dim tunnel and upwards towards the surface.

"Who's that?" a voice hissed.

"Larn, what ye doing up 'ere?"

"We're gonna pay Kaukasios back for being such a cunt," Erkki whispered in my ear.

"S'not right, him disregarding Paul Meinerz just like that," Tozar said, strangely solemn for once. "When this is over we're gonna petition for Meinerz to be decorated – the least he deserves."

"Bloody right," I nodded. Something we could all agree on at last.

"So we're gonna go shoot out Kaukasios' tyres. See how he likes that," Rauer grinned. In his hand he held a small stub pistol with a thin cylinder screwed on the end of the barrel; a silencer. "Find any MP whips, they're gonna get it too – can't stand Meatheads."

"Say no more – I'm in. Anything to flip Kaukasios off," I said. The bastard had had it too easy up until now.

Creeping out from a camouflaged dugout, we stole away from the line and back down a slope to where the company's vehicles were parked in cover behind the factory. Shivering in the cold, I felt for the absent scarf I should, by rights, have been wearing. There was no time to run back and get it now, we were on the way to slam Kaukasios. I hadn't felt so excited in a good long while. That feeling alone kept me warm.

"I'm gonna deal with the sentry. You go find Kaukasios' whip," Rauer whispered, handing the pistol to me. His means of distracting the sentry came in bottle form.

"S'go lads," I beckoned to Stimm, Tozar and Erkki. We were looking for an unarmoured Wolf four-wheeled drive. Since we were infantry the marking on the door would be a small, white rectangle with a cross through it. Beside it the letter C denoted Cain Company. Since Kaukasios was the only one in the company entitled to a personal vehicle, there would only be one Wolf marked as such.

"Ooh, look at this," Stimm had stuck his head through a partly open tail flap of a four-tonner. Hoisting himself up through the gap, Stimm's legs dangled over the tailgate as he reached inwards to grab whatever came to hand first.

"Stimm!" I hissed. "Get outta there, s'not what we came for."

"Sorry, Corp, too good to pass up," Stimm replied, rootling around inside the truck. "Hah, shiny! ORPs – 24 hour packs!"

"Which ones?" Tozar climbed up and squeezed into the truck beside Stimm. "Box A or B?"

"Uhh, all B," Stimm shone a torch across the neatly stacked boxes.

"Get – get eleven, s'got sausage and bean breakfast, hot chocolate too."

"That the one with the eggs in it, cause I can't eat eggs."

"Nah, no eggs. It's got cookies though."

"Yes, got one!"

"Why didn't we bring a bag?"

"Food?" Erkki, to my irritation, pushed his way through the flap and delved into the pile of ratpacks alongside Stimm and Tozar.

"Oi! Come on, that's not what we're here for!" I whispered furiously. A ratpack was thrown backwards out of the truck and hit me in the head.

"Knock yerself out, Corp," Stimm laughed softly. The other two were also laughing. Rubbing my cold nose, I bent down and picked up the dented box.

"Come on, lads, grab one each then bloody get out here. I'm cold, we're wastin' time!"

"Soon as he gets his second stripe that stick goes further and further up his arse," Tozar wriggled back out of the truck. "Be coming out his mouth when he reaches sarn't." In the darkness I saw he carried five boxes of grub. Stimm had managed five as well, Erkki had two.

"You lot finished?" I folded my arms and glared sourly at the three.

"How's all this stuff lying back here when we're eating two meals a day?" Stimm asked Tozar.

"Kaukasios and HQ's gobbling it all, that's why."

"Ssh, no noise now," I said, placing a finger on my lips. We'd already made enough of a racket. I hoped Rauer was distracting the sentry.

After an anxious few minutes of squinting at doors we finally came upon the company commander's vehicle. "There we go," I ran a finger along the bodywork and licked my lips. "Oi, whassat?" I heard a soft crunching behind me.

"Mmm, these are good," Tozar gave thumbs up. Out of mouth tumbled cookie crumbs. Stimm and Erkki too had already broken open their rations and were casually chewing away, not giving a damn about the noises they were making.

"Keep watch," I waved them away. The last thing we wanted was a mobile sentry happening on the four of us, eating stolen scran and creeping around the motor pool with a pistol. I don't think they would've blamed the sentry had he shot first and issued a challenge later.

Raising the unfamiliar pistol, I pointed it at the front left tyre and squeezed the trigger. The loud clap made me jump. I hadn't expected the report to be so loud. However, more worryingly, was the pop and hiss as the air was let out of the Wolf's tyre.

"Oh shit, that's loud," Tozar laughed through his full mouth. "Gimme, gimme."

Reluctantly I handed off the pistol to Tozar. He scrambled around the Wolf and shot out the opposite tyre. The silence that followed the loud pop and hiss was nail-biting.

"C'mon, let's go," Erkki whispered, fearfully looking over his shoulder. I could understand him getting cold feet at this stage, mine were pretty numb too.

"Nah, I'm out," Stimm was away before the words left his mouth.

"Okay, go, Erkki. C'mon, Tozar!"

"Heh, teach the bastard," Tozar grinned as he came back around the Wolf to us. "Think I might do his fuel too." Raising the silenced pistol, he aimed at the fuel tank on the underside of the car.

"No, ye fuckin' idiot!" I batted the handgun away before Tozar could pull the trigger. "C'mere, ye thick cunt," I got Tozar into a headlock and dragged him away, nearly spilling the boxes he carried.

"Argh – f'you didn't have stripes I'd lay you out, son," Tozar grunted, struggling to remain upright and to keep hold of his ratpacks.

"Maybe someday soon I'll tear 'em off, we can get to know each other more intimately, Private Tozar. Fer now, get yer arse back to the bunker."

At the opening to the bunker, I shoved Tozar down inside. The sound of his ratpacks flying everywhere, coupled with the lads on Stag fighting to grab hold of them, made Rauer, who was crouching outside, chuckle. "What happened? I've been 'ere ages," he asked me.

"The lads found a food wagon, I couldn't pull 'em out," I panted.

"Hmm, you do Kaukasios over?"

"Pretty much," I held two fingers up. "Two to the rubber, he's gonna be shootin' sparks out of his arse tomorrow."

Rauer snorted, "first time as a fullscrew, ye not half bad, Larn."

"Nah," I tossed my only ratpack at Rauer. "Lookin' out fer the lads s'all. Shall we?"

Letting Rauer go on ahead, I ducked underneath the overhead beam and pulled the cover back behind us.

* * *

A pre-dawn artillery bombardment, a murder, consisted off an entire regiment's worth of guns all firing at once and for three minutes exactly. Its intention was to make the enemy believe they would shortly be attacked after the barrage lifted. In manning their firing positions, they would wait for the expected attack. When none came they would send out small probes across to the enemy's main line of defence. Finding the positions unoccupied, the probes would communicate with their headquarters which would pass it up the chain and so forth until new orders could be given. By the time a general offensive was organised, the Imperials would have long pulled out of the sector, allowing them to retreat without fear of an assault in their rear.

1 Neria's headquarters were just about to leave when Captain Glowna rang up Captain Kaukasios who was still in the factory. "Hello Cain Zero-Alpha, this is Zero."

"Cain Zero-Alpha. Yes, Zero," Kaukasios replied, buttoning up the jacket of his greatcoat. "I was just about to leave."

"Don't leave just yet. Now listen to me." _What the hell could he possibly want?_ Kaukasios fumed. Their artillery cover wouldn't last forever. He did not want to be around when it lifted. "Regiment feels that it is unwise and also suicidal to leave behind any rearguard platoon including Cain Two."

 _Scherder,_ Kaukasios stiffened.

"Relay to Cain Two. They are to join the evacuation immediately. Please acknowledge, over."

"This is Cain Zero-Alpha, understood," Kaukasios replied flatly.

"Out," Glowna signed off.

"Kazel," Kaukasios barked. "All rearguard platoons are to join the evacuation order immediately."

"Shall I notify Scherder's platoon?" Kazel asked. Two Platoon were strung out on the furthest point and as yet did not know of the retreat order.

"Yes," Kaukasios stepped back and allowed Kazel to pick up the voxpiece. As he did, the gears in his head began to spin. Two Platoon's ignorance was precisely what he had been waiting for. Since they did not know to pull back they wouldn't. The rest of the company was out of sight and out of earshot. It would be the perfect way to get rid of the loathsome Scherder and the irritating little boy-soldier, Larn. With Scherder out of the way there would be no one to stop Kaukasios getting his Star of Terra. Larn too would pay for what he'd done to Kora. The disgusting image of Kora laying with the boy still niggled Kaukasios. It would be two birds with one stone. No more Scherder, no more Larn, no more Nemtess. A smile ghosted his lips.

"Get me Two Zero Alpha," Kazel said. Kaukasios glanced at the wires leading away from the vox and up to where they disappeared into the wall. Reaching up, he gripped them in his gloved hand and ripped them out of their sockets.


	25. Chapter 24

06:03/M41/02-40.999/Nemesis Tessera/Nemesis Sector/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

Lord Inquisitor Torquemada Coteaz held out a handful of crumbs to his pet Glovodan eagle, Videre. The two-headed bird pecked at Coteaz's gloved hand, picking out the bread crumbs and raising his heads to look at his master. Smiling, Coteaz stroked Videre's heads with his finger. The mechanically-augmented bird returned the affection, rubbing his heads against Coteaz's hand. There were only a tiny handful of beings Coteaz trusted in the galaxy. In all his 150 years, the number never increased from what he could count on his fingers. By now most of those he trusted, colleagues, some he might have called friends, were dead. He too was nearing the end of his life. He could feel it inside, the fire gradually slipping away. "I still have you, little friend," Coteaz murmured. Videre blinked and clicked its beaks.

"Apologies, My Lord," a subordinate announced himself. "A most urgent matter requires your attention."

"I shall decide whether it is a matter of urgency, Darin," Coteaz grumbled. He did not like being drawn into work at such an early hour.

"Apologies, Lord," Darin stammered, "a host of warships has been sighted on the edge of the sector, they are believed to belong to a Chaos warband." Darin made the sign of the aquila as he spoke as if to ward away the mention of evil.

"A host of ships, you say?" Coteaz turned around and stared at the Inquisitorial acolyte.

"Yes, Lord," Darin said, lowering his eyes. He struggled to remain still and not to back away from the imposing Coteaz. The very light seemed to shine off of Coteaz's bald head giving him an almost angelic visage.

"Did their IFF check out? Are you sure they do not belong to the Navy?"

"Double and triple-checked, Lord. They are not affiliated with any known battlegroup. Their allegiance is to Chaos. They number in the thousands."

"Well then, as they say in our glorious Navy – there's not a moment to lose," Coteaz petted Videre one last time then followed his underling out from his personal chambers.

Buried deep underneath Nemtess's surface was a vast Inquisitorial fortress, a top secret complex originally constructed to serve as a prison for Warp abominations. The cells though had been long empty and now only Coteaz and a tiny skeleton crew resided in the fortress, much of which was now home only to dust and echoes.

The thirteen Inquisitorial operatives were all in the complex's command centre, manning various consoles and terminals, each glowing a fluorescent green. In the absence of light, the eerie green made them look like spectres. "My Lord, new contact!" an acolyte exclaimed as Coteaz entered the room.

"Be calm!" Coteaz said sharply. "Explain from the beginning," he indicated the wide, circular chart desk that displayed the sector in three-dimension. "What am I looking at?"

"My Lord," the Acolyte began, "at exactly zero five five nine a thousand-strong force of Chaos warships entered the Nemesis Sub-sector from between the gas giant Verloren and the dead world Grendt, here." Sweeping the map aside, the Acolyte replayed the events, showing the ships breaching the sector boundary and closing their ranks before passing inbetween the planets.

"How many of them?" Coteaz folded his arms and leant over the map, scrutinising the fleet.

"Approximately one one six two, all classes. No spoiling raid, this is a major offensive."

"Has Segmentum Command been notified of the developments?"

"Affirmative, Lord. A listening post, callsign Astana 27, called it in almost half an hour ago. SEGCOM has been put on high alert."

"We knew they'd be coming. It was only a matter of time," Coteaz shrugged, his gaze still on the fleet. After the rebellion on Cadia and the Volscani Cataphract's declaration of war on the Imperium, any element of surprise the Ruinous Powers might've had was now gone. "What is that?" Coteaz pointed at a strange warship near the centre of the fleet. It was shaped like a Chaos star. To Coteaz it stunk of Xeno. Even the tiny image of the vessel was enough to make him grimace in disgust. The very existence of such a foul construct, in his eyes, was an insult to the Emperor, humanity and all things pure.

"It is believed to be a Blackstone Fortress, My Lord. Very few are still in service in the galaxy, none by their original makers. It is truly a dark day for the Imperium if the Great Enemy now has such an heretical weapon in their enthral."

However the Blackstone Fortress was no longer on Coteaz' mind, his gaze drawn to another, very different starship in the vanguard. It was unlike any ship of Imperial construction, as most of the fleet was. Only the Blackstone Fortress and the few space hulks the Chaos forces had managed to get underway were not of Imperial origin. This one was like nothing he had ever seen before. The ship was massive, truly massive, with only the Blackstone Fortress coming close to meeting its size. Alongside the other capital ships, the unknown monster made them look like toys. _What are you then?_ Coteaz wondered. Stroking his clean-shaven chin, he cast his mind back to the Gothic War. The 12th Black Crusade, as it had been officially named, had ended more than 800 years previously. If Coteaz' memory served him correctly then a warship of similar proportions had been involved in Chaos operations, only it had been confirmed destroyed over Kharlos II. The after-action report had given a very in-depth description of the irregular vessel, allegedly stating that it was armed with a terrifyingly powerful energy cannon that had the capacity to destroy entire planets. _Of course, Savaven!_ Coteaz recalled the planet, or one of them, that had met its end by the monstrosity's seven-barrelled cannon. _If such a nightmare has returned then it is indeed a dark day for the Imperium._ A name, or rather a nickname, came back to him.

 _Black Echo_.

"That has to seven or eight klicks long," Darin breathed. "May the Emperor have mercy on us all."

"Ten," Coteaz corrected the man. "I would get your facts straight before you run your mouth off again, Darin. Show me the current developments."

"Yes, Lord," an acolyte made some adjustments. The map altered, now showing the Chaos fleet splitting into separate battlegroups. The cause of this came in the form of the surprise appearance of another fleet, also of great proportions. They were not, however, Chaos.

"Emperor almighty, Eldar!" Darin's mouth dropped.

"Eldar indeed," Coteaz frowned as an Eldar warfleet gradually blinked out of Warpspace – the Webway, to be more precise – and, by the looks of things, got the fright of their lives. Their scouts had literally collided with the Chaos picquets. Behind them, the larger vessels had to frantically adjust their vectors to keep from ramming the Chaos flankers. Coteaz imagined both sides rushing to load their respective ship-to-ship ordnance and strike the first blow. He allowed himself a tiny smile. _Xeno on Heretic_ , _what an amusing spectacle to watch._

"What's Black Echo doing?" Coteaz indicated the giant.

"B-Black Echo appears to be slowing its drive. They do not wish, it seems, to commit themselves at such an early hour."

"No, they wouldn't, would they," Coteaz muttered. He could see the Chaos fleet trying to deploy into some semblance of a combat formation as of the Eldar's sudden appearance. _Good, anything to stall their advance_. It was just a shame that those arrogant, pointy-eared freaks had managed to get the first shot in. It should've been reserved for a sanctified human weapon which would have doused the invaders in cleansing, holy fire, not some heretical, fusion weapon.

"Black Echo, the Blackstone and four-sevenths of the Chaos fleet are attempting to break contact with the Eldar, Lord."

"Their primary objective is Cadia, it has always been Cadia. If they take it they'll be able to hold the door open for all of the Chaos hordes in the Eye to pour out into the galaxy," Coteaz thundered.

"Lord, Black Echo appears to be moving the slowest out of all the ships in the fleet. It means the rest must move at its speed and its speed only. They will not risk the safety of their flagship. It will buy our forces some more time to muster."

"Flagship," Coteaz muttered. He knew exactly who was aboard that nightmare. _Abaddon, you cunning bastard,_ Coteaz clenched his fist tightly.

"Lord, a splinter fleet has broken away from the main force. They make to blockade Nemtess!"

"Are you sure?" Coteaz watched a fragment split from Black Echo's battlegroup and turn towards Nemtess.

"Beyond any doubt, Lord."

"Then we will do no good trapped in here like rats," Coteaz clapped his hands and barked. "All stations, we are evacuating the fortress. I want everyone out soonest." Turning to Darin, Coteaz said. "Commence with the shutdown procedure, I want to be out of here within the hour."

"Yes, My Lord," Darin snapped his heels and bowed his head sharply.

"There is just one more thing I must attend to…"

The Lord Inquisitor hurried back down to his quarters. Conscious of the closing window, he powered up his long-range communicator. He hoped his apprentice was aboard the Zarkaniy and not away on Agripinaa pursuing women. Coteaz was well aware of his subordinate's extra-curricular activities. It was something the Inquisition officially frowned on. After a few moments static, Osvat Radu Zeleska's handsome face appeared onscreen. The calm, almost serene man Coteaz remembered so well was, as ever, the young Inquisitor's default expression. "Greetings, My Lord Inquisitor," Zeleska smiled widely. Coteaz was not fooled for one moment. The warm, jovial aura Zeleska projected was a smokescreen. Beneath the boyish good looks and the suave, charming personality was a vile, utterly unrepentant sadist. Coteaz knew full well Zeleska liked to use his looks and charisma to pick up women only to rape, torture and mutilate them once he'd grown bored of their company. The power Zeleska wielded as an inquisitor meant everything he did, bar blatant heresy, was legal. Those women were officially heretics and Zeleska and his thugs could do what they wanted with the women as long as he disposed of them at the end of the day. To Coteaz, all that mattered was that Zeleska perform his duty and remain loyal to him above all else. A few missing Imperial citizens here and there was nothing to the Inquisition.

"I shall be returning to the Zarkaniy in short stead, Osvat," Coteaz said. On being referred to by his first name, Zeleska face gave a subtle twitch. Coteaz knew which buttons to press. "That is, within twenty-four hours."

"I look forwards to your return, My Lord," Zeleska smiled again. It seemed that he too was aware of what got under Coteaz's skin. The constant grinning along with the wide-eyed expression irritated the Lord Inquisitor to no end.

"As you know, I am aware of your… hobbies. I do not expect to find evidence of any of your pets lying around the Zarkaniy when I get there," Coteaz said levelly but with an undercurrent of threat to get the message across to Zeleska.

"Pets, My Lord?" Zeleska's smile vanished.

"Do not play games with me, Osvat," Coteaz rumbled. "I know damn well all those women you have under lock and key. If I catch any trace of your little harem on the Zarkaniy, I will revoke your Inquisitorial privileges and have you kicked down to Interrogator. No more My Lord, just a lowly interrogator who will never rise above his rank again. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"Perfectly clear, My Lord Inquisitor," Zeleska said, the smile back in place.

"That comfortable lifestyle you now have. It is about to end. I expect a shining turnout from you and your retinue when I arrive."

"My Lord," Zeleska bowed once more.

"Torquemada out."

* * *

 _The Arabulucu…_

"Khaela Mensha Khaine…" the pilot of the troopship's mouth dropped in terror at the vacuum which the Arabulucu and the rest of the fleet had just re-entered. It was filled with innumerable Chaos ships. The warfleet had dropped out of the Webway frighteningly close to the enemy warships; side-scrapingly close. _How could this have happened?_

"What is it? Have we left the Webway?" Anon Brightfire appeared in the cockpit with Izuru and Keladi.

"There appears to be a very large number of Chaos ships in our path," the pilot said, doing his best to keep his voice calm.

"We can see that," Izuru said irritably. Leaning forwards she stared out of the troopship's narrow viewport. The launch tube they had been shunted into granted them a limited field of view off of the Arabulucu's starboard beam. But from what they could see, chaos was about to unfold.

"Quite a coincidence, our hosts meeting up like this," Anon said nonchalantly.

"Indeed," Izuru replied, glad that someone else was keeping their head. "Still, a chance to deploy into combat formation would've been preferable."

Keladi, standing behind them, was gripped with fear. _I'm not ready, I'm not ready_ , she repeated over and over again in her mind. The sensation gripped her tightly, refusing to let go. She knew it, she was a coward. Her training hadn't helped her get over her fear. The vast scale of the battle unfolding before her made her shrink into nothing. The black void of space, crowded with warships, stretching as far as her eyes could see made her realise just how small and insignificant she was. " _Jain Zar, Jain Zar, help me_ ," she whispered under her breath.

"Have we been granted clearance to leave?" Anon asked the pilot.

"That is down to the Ambassador, Autarch, we are at her command." They both turned to Izuru.

"As you were, pilot, we must wait for an opening first," she commanded. To launch now would see them quickly shot out of the sky by either side, both having begun to blast indiscriminately away at one another. The storm of fire coming from thousands of batteries, pulsars and missiles, all firing at the same time, had already wreaked havoc on those closest to one another. So near were the broadsides that both Eldar and Chaos, caught inbetween one another's fusillades, were blown into atoms. A few of the faster frigates and corvettes, recklessly charging forwards to protect their larger cousins, had been ripped cleanly in half; gutted by missiles or rammed amidships. Keladi went cold as she saw hundreds of crew, some fighting it, others accepting it, be jettisoned out into the cold depths of space. _Is this what war is really like?_ Keladi's throat tightened. Tears began to run down her face as she watched the Chaos ships deliberately target the helpless crew with their cannon. _Why do that when they can't fight back?_ There was no reason for it other than wanton cruelty. _How can such beings exist?_ Inside her mind Keladi heard or rather felt hundreds of spirits shatter. The sudden rush of noise, like a warpstorm, made her clamp her hands over her ears to try and curb the nerve-wracking sound. It was heartbreaking feeling the deaths of so many of her kind. Stricken with grief, Keladi slumped against the bulkhead and sobbed.

"We might be waiting a while," the pilot replied, transfixed.

"Then wait. There is nothing to be gained from jumping the gun," Izuru said.

"All those beings," Keladi said shakily. "They're just gone…" She wondered whether Izuru felt it too.

"Quiet, Keladi," Izuru said coldly.

"What do we do?"

"Wait."

* * *

 _Nemtess…_

The sun had yet to rise before the first shells of the day fell. Sitting inside his armoured coffin, Sergeant Romus Verne stared at the onboard vox set and waited for it to speak again. The once-loyal NCO had formally been a troop commander in 'A' Squadron of the 26th Moravian Uhlan Regiment. Now though, since the destruction of Nereus scarcely a month previously, he and his four crewmates along with their MB-I 'Ragnarok' tank, named Fiducia, had been pressed into Chaos service.

A faraway moan coming from outside signalled incoming rounds. Gaining in pitch, the invisible traincars fell from the heavens and exploded on the ground, jolting the motionless tank. Verne trembled and closed his eyes a fraction of a second before each round hit and prayed out loud. His prayers were to neither the Emperor nor to the monsters he was serving now, rather to whatever still watched over him. However as a despicable traitor he was not sure whether he still deserved the attention of such an entity.

Hugging his knees to his chin, Verne groaned as a near miss walloped the earth perilously close to Fiducia. He could hear great clods of frozen earth, hurled into the sky by the blast, fall down onto the tank's armour plate. It sounded like half a dozen men were laying into Fiducia with hammers. Verne very nearly got the urge to open his hatch and shout at them to lay off, such was the maddening fear the artillery had infected him with.

After exactly three minutes the barrage ceased. Verne remained still with his eyes closed, listening for a sneaky follow-up the Imperials might try. When none came he unlocked the turret's side hatch and slipped out into the freezing, pre-dawn air. Even in the semi-darkness Verne could see the freshly dug shellholes scattered around the vehicle park. Two four-tonne trucks were lying on their sides, both burning fiercely. An obsolete Deimos Predator 1 tank had had its fuel ignited by a round that had penetrated its sheet-thin top armour. Crowds of crewmen and militia now fought to gain control of the blaze. Fiducia, thankfully, was untouched. Verne did a quick once-over to ensure no wheels or track links had been damaged and nothing had become jammed in them then stepped back to regard his mount.

The Mobile Bunker 1, an apt nickname given the tank's massively oversized turret and 8.2-inch thick armour plate, was instantly recognisable when parked alongside the Russ' and Predators that made up the majority of the battalion's armoured vehicles. There was no other tank like it, at least none that Verne had seen. But he was glad it was like that. It was for that reason he and his crew hadn't been simply executed when they and Feducia had been forced to surrender on Nereus. They had withstood everything the enemy had thrown at them but had had to concede defeat in the end when a transmission failure and a leaky fuel tank had rendered them immobile. The Ragnarok was many things, tough, spacious and packing a powerful 152 mm howitzer that could one-shot bunkers. Sadly, reliability was not one of them.

There was no shame in surrendering, Verne had kept reminding himself. He had done it to protect his crew. Since only they knew how to operate Fiducia effectively their lives had been spared, it was that or a painful execution and being forced to watch their home destroyed. _The crew first_ , was Verne's motto. After all, what good was a tank without men to operate it? " _I'm sorry I let this happen to you, girl,_ " Verne whispered sadly. The outside of the tank had been defaced callously on the order of the cruel militia officers to erase any Imperial symbol or marking. All aquila's and unit identification had been ripped off or painted over. Even the name, painted in white on the tank's gun tube, had been darkened with a crude slap of paint in an attempt to erase all personal touches the crew had added in its previous life. It had not been completely obscured though, some lettering still remained. Verne clambered onto the hull and scratched away some of the rust coloured paint with a fingernail, revealing more white beneath. _You'll always be Fiducia to me_. _No amount of spray paint and shit will change that._

Conscious that what he was doing would get him punished by his officers, Verne clung onto the gun barrel and used it to swing down to the ground. The ever-present threat of the Imperials dug in over the ridgeline was not nearly as bad as Verne's, and many others', officers were. On induction into the Chaos Army, Verne and his crew had been subject to abuse by officers who beat them, citing it as disciplinary offences, and did their utmost to be as humiliating and nasty as was humanly possible. All of these practices were carried out in the open. The chain of command knew all about it. But to them it was standard procedure. The worst bit, for Verne and his crew, came when they were given electric shocks from the magnetos of vox sets, deliberately starved – the officers stole their rations – and deprived of sleep. The stories they heard of less well-off infantrymen without a home to sleep in, made them realise they had got off comparatively lightly. Tales of mock executions, deliberate starvations and rape that occurred with alarming frequency in the battalion horrified Verne. It made him long for the past days of the iron-hard discipline in the Imperial Armoured Corps. However tough and exhausting that might have seemed, this was much, much worse. Of these 'disciplinary offences' Verne had only actually witnessed one taking place. A frightened boy, no more than fifteen, was forced to hold a hand grenade in his mouth with the pin taken out for two hours by a sadistic officer who had stolen his rations. Forced to stand at attention, the boy had cried his eyes out and wet himself, frightened out of his mind that if he moved too much the live grenade would fall from his mouth and explode, killing him and a friend who'd been ordered to stand closeby. Neither so much as moved a muscle until the officer, waiting a safe distance away, came over and yanked the grenade from the boy's mouth and replaced the pin. Utterly exhausted, the boy collapsed in the mud and passed out. The heartless officer had then ordered everyone present, Verne and Co. included, to urinate on the boy to wake him up. Despite his senses quickly returning, the officer did not let the boy up until everyone had done it. As a final, cruel blow the officer had stamped on the boy's testicles. The high-pitched, child's scream wrenched at Verne's heart. Turning his back he had slipped down into Fiducia's turret and slammed the hatch, tears of rage building up in his eyes. In the end the poor lad could not stand and had to be dragged away. They didn't need a reason, Verne thought bitterly afterwards. They just did it because they could. He'd begun to fear for his crew's lives from that point on. Any one of them could've been in that position, even him.

Approaching a crudely dug pit covered by tarpaulin, Verne lifted the staked flap and slipped underneath to where his crew slept. "You lads alright?" he whispered. Four shapes underneath blankets stirred.

"Bloody murder that was," Corporal Ferd Gaspol grumbled. In the gunner's position, he was closest to Verne, both inside and outside the tank, though that wasn't to say Verne kept his distance from the other three. They were his brothers, his family. He loved all of them equally.

"Was that three minutes? Didn't sound like it," Corporal Uli Wrun removed his tank beret from where it was keeping his blanket in place and rubbed his eyes. Uli was the strongest member of the crew which helped massively when assembling the two-piece shell and loading it into the gun, though he was by no means dumb, just ignorant.

"Yeah, 'bout that," Verne grinned. "C'mon, shake a leg," he yanked the blankets off of the two other crew.

"Aw, c'mon, Sarn't," Lance Corporal Ense Dalman, Fiducia's driver, groaned. "Bloody freezing."

"No, come on, shake a leg, Karl," Verne tugged Karl Kense's boot, all that was visible underneath his blanket. Karl served as the assistant driver and also operated Fiducia's bow gun.

"I was dreaming of artillery," Karl mumbled. "We were being shelled."

"Dunno how you could've slept through that lot," Uli shoved Karl playfully. "Sleep the sleep o' the dead you do."

"I dunno what the itinerary is for today but get yourselves ready to move out at a moment's notice," Verne said.

"Anyone for a brew?" Ferd asked. "Tea, hmm?"

"Be a darling would ya," Ense set a portable brewer next to Ferd. "Dying for a wet."

"And me," Karl raised a finger.

"Comin' up," Ferd set about preparing the brew. "Fiducia sleep alright, Verne?"

"Like a log. Didn't wake me up at all," Verne replied. "Stayed out of the rain alright too."

"Are we gonna be heading over the hill today, Sarn't?" Ense asked.

"Don't know but I bloody hope not. Fiducia's got issues I'd rather we sorted out before heading out," Verne said as he watched the kettle start to hiss.

"That transmission though…" Ense grimaced. "It's getting the parts that's the problem. I mean we're the only guys in the battalion riding an MB so surely, maybe…"

"I dunno. Ammo supply's worse though, 'cause no one else uses a 152 so… well that's that," Uli scratched at his greasy hair.

"Could we—"

"Shush!" Verne hissed. Putting a finger to his lips he touched his ear and listened. A clumping, the sound of armoured boots, was coming in their direction. The crew, having all fallen silent, exchanged worried looks with one another. Ferd cut the heat off from the kettle, stifling the whistling that was being made. No one moved. _No human could make such a collective noise_ , Verde thought. " _Don't make a sound_ ," he murmured.

" _Ten of 'em_ ," Ferd mouthed. " _Tac squad_." Verne paled.

 _Marines_.

The stomping made the ground tremble, dislodging earth from between the cracks in the wooden boards and rattling the kettle, so much that Ferd had to hold it in place so it didn't attract any attention. Verne, his back pressed against the wall heard a rushed prayer being mumbled by Ense. Gripping his driver's hand tightly, Verne hugged him and prayed alongside. Like with before Verne did not know who he was praying to, but he hoped whatever it was was listening. The rumours of the Marines, hideously corrupted beyond all recognition, put the fear up everyone, including the officers. Verne had heard off-handedly that sometimes the Marines would casually open fire on nearby militia or pick a few out at random to pull apart with their bare hands for enjoyment. The absolute least worst the Marines would do was employ the lesser humans as meatshields, sending them forwards in massed waves to drown the enemy in corpses before following on once the bodies had been exhausted.

Verne felt cold dirt trickle down his neck as he counted away the seconds. The frozen ground was no longer quivering. " _Wait_ ," he held up a hand to keep the others from moving. Rising slowly to his feet, Verne lifted the tarpaulin slowly and peered out from underneath it. The only sign of the Marines' presence were the large footprints left in the mud. "Alright, lads, they're gone."

"Cor, they don't 'alf put the shits up me," Uli said, rolling up his blanket.

"I never even seen one," Karl remarked. "Scarier when you don't see 'em."

"Trust me, Karl, you wouldn't wanna see one," Ferd relit the kettle and resumed the brew-up. "Give you nightmares it would."

"Right, listen up, lads. Once you've had a brew, eaten, washed, whatever, we need to see to Fiducia. Ferd, you sort out ammo and fuel. Uli, water and compo. Ense, Karl, you see what you can do about the transmission and fuel line, anything else that crops up."

"We're gonna need a workshop for the mechanical issues, Romus," Ferd said.

"Well, we got no workshop here so you'll have to make do."

"Oh and there's—"

"—the extra armour plates for the flanks, yeah. Leave that 'til last, it's not massively important. We sort out the current issues before diving into new ones; clear?"

"Yeah."

"Hup."

"Right, Sarn't."

Leaving their sleeping pit, the crew of Fiducia began going about their tasks. Roughly twenty minutes later there was a sudden rush by the other crews who, up until then had been doing the same as Verne and the others, but now scrambled inside their vehicles and hastily turned their engines over. The bitter cold lauded predicable results. Many of the Russ' and Predators died or simply didn't start.

"Whose bright idea was that then?" Uli asked, returning with a meagre supply of rations and a single fuel can filled with water.

"Morons," Verne tutted, _they should've known better_. Grasping Uli's hand, Verne helped him up onto the hull.

"Is this it?" Karl's hand, sticking out of the turret's side hatch, expressed utter disbelief at the tiny quantity of food Uli was carrying.

"Sorry, son, get you a three-course meal next time," Uli thrust the water and food at Karl before climbing in after him.

"What's this?" Ferd pushed open the gunner's hatch and squeezed his shoulders upwards.

"Think they may be planning something," Verne said. He was waiting for orders to arrive. They came in the form of a militia captain as opposed to being transmitted over the net. Adorned with chains linked across his metal breastplate, the officer was already beginning to fall under the influence of Chaos judging from the disgusting smell that he brought with him and what looked like human flesh sewn into his uniform. Verne struggled to not shove his nose in the crook of his arm and hold his breath. "Sir?"

"You," the captain rasped. "You will not be taking part in this assault. You will be joining the northern perimeter. You will move out now!"

"Sir!" Verne replied. He knew it was best to stick to brief, sharp responses or he might incur the officer's wrath in some way. The news that Fiducia was not taking part in the attack lifted Verne's spirits somewhat as it would allow them to continue repairs once they made it to their new position. That they would not have to fight alongside the untrained rabble of cultists who would be thrown forwards first was also a relief.

"Unbelievable," Ferd and Verne, leaning out of their hatches, watched the uncoordinated mass of cultists, clad in rags and carrying horribly outdated weapons, be driven forwards by the whips and shock batons of their leaders. Up the slopes the wave rolled, followed soon after by the few tanks that had managed to overcome the cold and start their engines.

"What an utter, bloody shambles," Ferd shook his head sadly. "Almost feel sorry for 'em."

"Who, that rabble or the Imperials?"

"Both I s'pose. Well both are gonna get slaughtered soon so…"

"Pfft, doesn't matter. They're just dead bodies who've temporarily got the use of their arms and legs," Verne said. He wasn't going to spare any sympathy for the cultists.

The vehicle park began to empty. The Russ' and Predators, their exhaust stack's belching black smoke, turning out onto the slope to follow the heaving mass up towards the crest. "Ense, can you hear me?" Verne said into his vox piece.

"Workable," Ense replied scratchily.

" _Damn_ ," Verne muttered, raising his hand from the talk button first. Now the intercom was playing up. He hated it when problems arose randomly. "Right, get us moving."

"Roger," Ense held the starter switch down and whispered a short litany. " _C'mon ye fuckin' machine, start_." The cold engine coughed obstinately before turning over several times and then catching. "Yes! Thank you, Fiducia," Ense grinned on hearing the deafening roar fill his ears.

"Alright, Ense, move out, I'll guide you."

"Yeah," Ense depressed the clutch pedal and shoved the gearstick into first. Releasing the pressure from the clutch a tad, Ense pushed down on the accelerator and felt Fiducia inch forwards.

"Left out of here." Verne guided Ense out of the cordoned off area and along frozen track. Passing a few ragged tents on both sides of the road, Verne ignored the cultists, militiamen and other chaos-tainted beings staring at Fiducia as she rolled by. It sickened him to be associated with such degenerates.

A nasty surprise awaited Fiducia around the next corner. Verne could see the edge of the camp and was beginning to relax when a large man wearing thick power armour plate appeared from inbetween a tent and a ruined stone building. It was unmistakably a Marine. Verne and Ense noticed the imposing figure simultaneously as when Verne swore under his breath, Ense jogged the control sticks and made to hang a hard right down a narrower path that wouldn't take them past the Marine. "Keep going, driver," Verne said quickly. A sudden deviation would no doubt attract the Marine's attention and bring trouble down on their heads. "Play it cool," Verne added calmly.

"Bugger this," Ense replied in Verne's ear.

Fiducia's ponderous speed over the softened mud wasn't really that much faster than walking pace. It was agonising for Verne who had his shoulders out of the commander's hatch and could do nothing but look straight ahead as Fiducia drew closer to the Marine. Verne knew that slamming the hatch and buttoning up would be seen as a cowardly move by the Marine and merely give it more motive to accost Verne and the crew. _What would happen if he stepped in front of Fiducia and dug his heels in?_ Truly Verne had no idea what would happen when the Marine, the unstoppable force, met the tank, the immovable object, head-on. _Don't look him in the eye. Don't look him in the eye._ Verne strained to keep his posture as relaxed as possible when Fiducia drew level with the Marine. Bizarrely his armour was royal blue with the trim a very bright gold colour. Most odd was the helmet he wore. Though it was the same blue as the rest of the armour, the tall, ornate crest mounted on top sported blue and gold horizontal stripes. On the Marine's rounded shoulder pauldron was a depiction of a flaming serpent eating its own tail. It meant nothing to Verne.

Conscious of the eyes on his back, Verne kept quiet until Fiducia was clear of the wire. Then, letting out a deep breath, he slumped in the cupola. That was hopefully the first and last time he'd encounter one of those nightmares. The nasty feeling of being under tireless scrutiny had set his teeth on edge. There was something else though too. A foreign consciousness had briefly reached out and brushed his mind. It filled him with dread that he could not even protect his mind from the Marines, let alone his body which to them was fragile to the point of brittleness and could be broken with terrifying ease.

"Y'okay up there, Sarn't?" Uli's voice in Verne's ear brought him back to his senses.

"Wha – uh, fine, I'm fine," Verne blurted.

"You haven't said anything for quarter of an hour," Ferd added. "You sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, now stop fussing. Just get us to where we're going."

Verne wiped his gloved hand over his face and blinked in the grey dawn light. He hadn't even been aware of the time passing. The Marine's creepy aura had given him quite a turn. It was enough for the tank commander to glance over his shoulder worriedly. He half-expected the Marine to have followed Fiducia out of the camp and up the hillside, stalking it like a phantom in the mist.

Away to the west, Verne could see flashes and hear the occasional crack of tank guns. Glassing the crest of the hill, a good 1200 yards distant, Verne wondered how the attack was going and how the Imperials were faring. Whoever they were, hiding in their trenches on the other side of no-man's land, the poor sods would be catching hell very soon.


	26. Chapter 25

07:26/M41/02-40.999/The Frontline/Nemesis Tessera/Nemesis System/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

"That incoming or outgoing?" someone said.

"That's outgoing mail," Sergeant Scherder replied. The remnants of 1 and 2 Platoon sat around a sputtering stove in our underground shelter listening to the distant artillery plastering the enemy lines.

"Ta, lad," I nodded at the mute lad as he came round with a handful of steaming mess tins. I hadn't seen the boy in the few days since I had been back. He seemed to disappear and reappear at will depending on the amount of danger that was afoot. I honestly couldn't blame him for ducking away and hiding when things got particularly rough.

"Cheers," Antti, squeezed in next to me, took a mess tin by the handle and tilted it backwards, emptying the contents into his mouth. "We ever get your name?"

"Dunno," Erkki said. "Never bothered to ask. He don't seem too vocal honestly."

"Leave 'im alone, Erkki," I shot him a look. "He deserves a break more'n anyone."

"Can he write it down?" Erkki suggested, miming scribbling a name on a piece of paper. The boy shrugged and shook his head adamantly.

"Don't think he can write," Martti shrewdly, guessed the lad's problem. "Can ye write, lad?"

"Uh-uh," he grunted. His response sounded more negative than it did positive.

"S'a pity," I said. "Ye know what yer name is don't ye, our kid?"

"Mm," the boy nodded and smiled.

"S'all that matters."

"On Nereus everyone could read and write," Antti said tactlessly. "Dunno why—"

"—maybe he's not from Nereus," Erkki interrupted, "c'mon, brother, s'a big old galaxy out there; lotta cultures to discover."

"And destroy," Martti muttered.

A shadow fell across me. Glancing up I realised Staf had chosen to join us again. "Alright, lad," I got to my feet and invited Staf back into our group. "Siddown, c'mon."

"Aw, Staf mate, here have a wet," Martti passed his mess tin, untouched, to Staf.

"So what's with the self-imposed isolation then, huh? You not like our company?" Erkki, as clueless as everyone to the reason of Staf's hiding away, asked pointedly.

"Leave it alone," I said sharply. "None of yer business, Erkki."

"Trouble at home?"

"Leave it alone, Private."

"My girlfriend's pregnant. She's seeing someone else now," Staf said flatly. At this Erkki mellowed considerably. I stared at Staf in shock.

"Shit, sorry mate," Erkki looked away, shamefaced. "Didn't know."

"Here, you want some?" Antti offered the contents of his mess tin to Staf.

"You need anything just say," I rested a hand on Staf's shoulder. "We're 'ere for ye."

"Nah, nah, I'm over it. It's done," Staf set his jaw and swallowed. I could see the redness of his eyes and the moisture still in them.

"We need ye with us, here, now."

"You got me. All of you got me," Staf said determinedly. "I'm solid."

"Whack-ho. Here, ye bundook's gonna need a cleaning. Why don't ye get about it?"

"Alright, cheers lads," Staf smiled weakly and accepted an LAR from me. Erkki laughed and punched Staf's shoulder.

"That's the spirit!"

"Corp…" Martti asked after a pause.

"What, mate?" I replied, draining the contents of my mess tin and wiping the cup clean.

"Where you from?"

"Ye what?"

"I – I mean us – we was just wondering where your homestead is, that's all. You're not from Nereus are you?"

At that remark I glanced down at the floor and fell silent. "Nah, nah I'm not from Nereus," I muttered. That was that. I had no wish to disclose any more of my personal life to the them.

"Oi, listen. Long range sniper's stopped," Stimm, on the other side of the chamber, said. Looking up at the earth ceiling, I stretched my ears out and listened hard. Our guns had indeed stopped.

"What was that, three minutes?" Corporal Antic sprang to his feet, his Lecta in his hands. "A murder."

"As you were!" Scherder barked. "Wait for the enemy barrage."

We waited for the enemy's reply. Wide-eyed and tense, our two platoons could only sit and wait as the artillery batteries – 132 mm and heavier 210 mm howitzer's – rained down a storm of death on the surface. Each impact made the earth around and above our heads tremble. Staring at the ceiling I wondered whether, under enough force, the roof would cave in, burying us all with no chance of escape. The thought of being buried alive was frightening enough. We'd be alright, at least until the oxygen ran out and our lamps started to fail one by one until we'd be left to suffocate in the darkness.

"Easy boys, they can't get us here," Scherder said calmly and confidently. "Once the rain stops we stand to."

The rain did not stop. If the murder our side doled out was three minutes, the enemy's was ten times as long, and even heavier. Pressing ourselves as hard as we could into the wall, we clung to one another every time a trickle of dirt was dumped on our heads from an impact. No one joked or tried to make light of the situation. We were helpless, trapped in an underground tomb, completely at the mercy of the storm with only a few metres of earth protecting us. I pictured the scene up on the surface. Shells gouging holes the size of trucks in the ground, flinging mud, ice and whatever fragile fortifications, be it wire or concrete, up into the sky. It was a terrifying display of the enemy's complete fire superiority. Despite only hearing it, the noise alone was enough to convince us that we were heavily outgunned.

"Is that it?" a voice asked on the artillery's cessation.

"That's it – stand to!" Scherder cried. "All of you outside. Assume your fighting positions!" To Stimm he said, "get company on the line, I want to talk to Kaukasios."

"Right, Scherder."

"C'mon, lads," I pulled on my gear and fastened the equipment belt around my waist.

"Larn," Martti passed me my rifle and cover.

"Cheers, Martti. Staf, your turn with the Lecta."

"Right, Corp," Staf flipped his cover over in his hands and popped it on his head. He was brisk and his tone was business-like. Inwardly I smiled at that. There would be no hesitancy to kill the enemy now. A chance to violently vent frustrations was exactly what Staf needed. I could think of none more deserving than the Perfs. _Then again…_ my expression darkened at the thought of the Inquisition and the immoral sadists amongst its ranks. I vowed someday to strike back at them for the hospital and for Ben Kryler and Helena. But that day wouldn't be now, nor would it be the day after or the next. All I knew was that one day they would regret everything they had done to me and to all of the innocents they had casually slaughtered.

* * *

Dawn arrived at just after 0800. From our firing positions we could see 200 yards across the waste until a slight rise in the land that ended sharply in a ridgeline. It was only a fraction higher than the ground around it but nevertheless commanded a good view of our positions. Over the crest of the hump rolled a human wave. To reiterate, it was a literal human wave. Hundreds of khaki-clad figures running pell-mell with absolutely no unit cohesion came charging across the pock-marked battlefield straight towards us.

Standing on a firestep, I tucked the butt of a .30 calibre stubber into my shoulder and rested my cheek on the stock. Peering through the aperture, I watched the horde surge over obstacles, around torn-up tank traps and straight over coils of barbed wire. Those caught on it were either trampled or left hanging.

"Lumme, look at that little lot," Staf muttered beside me. Aiming the Lecta through a gap he'd made in the barricade, Staf used his other hand to lay out spare magazine for the Lecta as well as belts and spare barrels for the stubber all within easy reach.

"What ye think ye gonna hit with that?" I said quietly. "Use yer rifle 'til they get close."

"Good point," Staf agreed. Propping the Lecta against the trench wall he picked up my rifle and shouldered it. "These sights zeroed?"

"Don't know, 'aven't had a chance to fire it yet."

"Hm, well don't blame me if I can't hit anything."

"Suit yourself," I grasped the stubber's charging handle and racked it twice. A liberal dose of hot oil had been applied to the action, acting as lubricant. Without it none of our weapons would've worked in the cold. "Martti, y'alright?" I called.

"Yep, good."

"Got enough ammo?"

"Enough to start a war."

"Aah he's funny – innee funny," Staf laughed. It sounded a little forced to me.

"Antti, Erkki, covering the right?"

"Getting bored over here, Corp. Find us somethin' to shoot!"

"Look to ye front, 'bout 200 yards. Satisfied?"

"Consider it done!"

" _That's it, lads_ ," I said under my breath. Everyone sounded confident. Morale it seemed was still fairly high.

"Boys," Scherder came by. "You ready?"

"Say the word, Sarn't, we'll give 'em hell," I replied.

"Not yet. Wait for my signal."

"Sarn't, problem!" Stimm tumbled from one of the passages leading underground. He dragged a vox set and a roll of commo wire trailing behind. "I can't contact company. I've tried battalion headquarters too. No one's replying!"

"Tozar!" Scherder called.

"Sarn't," Tozar leapt down down from his position and ran down the trench.

"Run back to the CP. I need you to find the captain and tell him our comms are down."

"Right, Sarn't," Tozar spun.

"Leave your rifle, take this," Scherder swapped Tozar's nightsight-equipped rifle for a Lecta. "Lively now!"

As Tozar took off, I glanced down at Stimm with the vox. "Problem with signals?"

"Yeah, dunno why. It was working fine yesterday," Stimm frantically tried again to contact company. "Hello Zero, this is Two-Zero, over."

The loud snap-hiss of rounds passing closeby diverted my attention. "CONTACT!" I shouted. The words were echoed up and down the line by other positions also receiving small arms fire.

"As you were," Scherder kept us all in check, calmly striding about, scanning the approaching mass every now and again.

"TANKS!"

"What, where?" Staf looked about fearfully. I gripped him by the collar and forced his head down.

"Keep yer 'ead down, Staf. Nothing to worry about," I lied, hoping it would convince him.

Tanks had indeed appeared. Cresting the ridge, I saw the thick gun tubes appear first before black hulls came into view. Despite the distance between us and them I heard quite clearly the roar of their engines as their driver's gunned it over the crest. The handful of Russ's and other vehicles unfamiliar to my eye were bad news for us. Our anti-tank capability was limited to one Scoba 84 mm recoilless rifle which I wasn't even sure we still had. Even then it could only really score a mobility kill when engaging armour from the front. Not good odds.

"Forget 'bout the tanks, infantry comes first."

"Tozar had better be back soon," Stimm pulled off his headset and replaced it with his crap cap. He'd given up on the vox now all options had been exhausted. "D'you get the feeling we're strung out on our own here, 'cause I haven't heard anything from the other companies."

"There's the mortar platoon," Scherder said on hearing several loud metallic _pops_ coming from our right. "Should give us some leeway."

"That's it, plaster 'em, lads!" Erkki and Antti cheered when the first mortar shells exploded amongst the enemy. The heavy 'stump throwers' made little noise when falling giving no warning for the hapless Perfs caught in the open. All they heard was the terrific _WHUMP_ and the screams of their comrades being thrown into the air.

"Can we give it to 'em, Sarn't?" I asked.

"C'mon, let's light 'em up!" Martti shouted impatiently.

Scherder lifted his arm up and opened his mouth to give the fire command. However Tozar's hasty exit from a tunnel stopped him. "SARN'T!"

"What is it?"

Red faced and out of breath, Tozar took a deep breath and launched into a stuttering explanation. "They're gone – the company's gone!"

"You checked the CP?"

"Factory's deserted, all the vehicles are gone. Whadda we do, Sarn't?" Tozar, for the first time since I'd met him, looked rattled. Scherder climbed up onto the firestep and glassed the distant tanks with his binoculars.

"Sarn't?" I, along with everyone else looked to him for an order. Our situation, it now seemed, was much worse than we'd originally thought.

"Get back to your fireteam," Scherder ordered Tozar.

"Sarn't," Tozar retrieved his rifle and bounded back down the trench.

"OPEN FIRE!" Scherder cried.

"Give it to 'em, lads!" I squeezed the stubber's trigger and winced as I felt the butt kick back into my shoulder. The deafening rattle boxed my ears in and cut out all sound. Thin streaks of red light were spat out of the gun's muzzle. Every visible tracer, supplanted with four more invisible rounds, ripped through the wavering enemy, cutting them down in droves. Firing bursts of ten, I traversed the gun in an 'S' pattern, walking my fire up and down the throng of Perfs. The ease of which they fell was remarkable. As before the same deadly calm gripped me when applying liberal quantities of copper-jacketed lead to the tightly-packed slabs of meat. Pink blood, bits of flesh and bone fragments were sprayed violently across the landscape. Yet still they came. I vaguely registered that some of them weren't even carrying weapons but ran screaming at us all the same. What sort of maddening rage had compelled them to perform such a suicidal act, I wondered. In doing so, they had broken the first rule of combat. Do not attack — and never by walking upright – in tight groups at a static position without simultaneous flanking movement and the heaviest possible covering fire. By eschewing basic fire and manoeuvre, they had condemned themselves to the slaughter. I almost wanted to stand up and shout at them to do something, to act with some form of self-preservation or caution. Beside me Staf was firing superbly, scoring a hit with each round fired. He burned through magazine after magazine, I ran through my ammunition belt; still the Perfs kept coming. Our volume of fire, though impressive for such a small force, simply wasn't enough to check the wave of bodies rolling towards us.

"Why aren't they doing anything?" Martti shouted to me. I didn't hear him. My ears were ringing to the sound of rifles, automatics and mortar fire all going off at once. Suddenly Martti jerked back, shaking his left hand as if stung.

"Y'alright?" I felt myself saying. Martti gritted his teeth and looked at his hand. A bullet had grazed his fingernail.

"Yeah," he mouthed. Then without further ado he picked up his rifle and resumed firing.

"What's wrong with these guys?" Staf made himself heard by shouting in my ear. To him it seemed that the Perfs were crazed if not drugged – they were surely out of their minds. Why else would they attack so suicidally? The Perfs would dive to the ground as men all around them were picked off. Then an officer or whatever they had for a leader would scream for them to get up, cracking a whip of all things, and exhort them forwards. As soon as they tried to move we or the mortar fire would cut them down.

Then everything went quiet.

We caught our breath. The firefight had perhaps lasted thirty seconds. Almost all of the attackers had been killed, wounded or driven into the ground.

I realised I was soaked with perspiration although it was well below freezing. I felt no tension now the battle had begun. It was hard to believe we hadn't been pounded with mortars, artillery or even stubber fire. I looked over no-man's land, dotted with corpses, body parts and bloody patches. There was a lot of human waste out there but the carnage did not disturb me. We'd stopped the Perfs, albeit briefly. In doing so we might have brought the battalion a little bit longer to pull out safely. Our only problem now were the tanks.

"Corp, what are we s'posed to hit those bastards with?" Martti asked slowly.

"Fuck if I know, mate," I removed the remaining twenty or so rounds from the gun and fed a fresh belt of cartridges into the tray. The tanks, alarmingly, had been backed up by many more which were just coming over the crest of the hill. "Guess we're gonna be pullin' out shortly," I said without any emotion, all of it having been sucked out of my body. "Who's hit – anyone?"

"I'm fine," Staf replied. Antti and Erkki were the same.

"Wounded Lion," Martti held up his bleeding finger.

Sergeant Scherder was at my shoulder. "Standby to pull out. Larn, pull your fireteam back to behind the factory, we'll consolidate there – you understand?"

"Yes, Sarn't." Before anything could be done the Perfs rose from where they were hiding. Again we let rip. It was 100 to one odds against us but we were fighting hard and refusing to give in. Still they came.

The sudden reappearance of the mortars, dropping within fifty feet of our position stalled the enemy advance.

"NOW – BACK INTO THE TUNNEL!" Scherder dragged us back one from the firestep. "We've got cover. Move unless you want to be taken prisoner!"

"Yes, Sarn't! Right, Delta Fireteam on me," I quickly cleared the stubber and tried to pull the weapon, tripod and all, down into the trench.

"Leave the tripod!" Scherder shouted at me before running away to find Antic and Rauer.

"Argh, gimme a hand with this, Martti! Bring as much ammo as ye can – barrels too!"

"Got it!" Martti removed the lock from the gun, freeing it from the heavy tripod.

"Where do we go?" Antti, Erkki and Staf crowded around me in the trench like lost livestock.

"Into the tunnel, out the other side of the road, we'll meet up behind the factory – GO!" I shoved Erkki into the tunnel. "Grab this!" I thrust bandoliers of ammunition at him. Antti decided to take the whole box with him.

"Bet he thinks he's gonna get a bloody medal for that," Martti laughed as I passed him the stubber.

"Careful now," I draped the strap of the barrel bag around his neck and shoved him away.

"Whoa, those are tank shells!" Staf, pausing in gathering ammunition, gaped skywards as white streaks of light shrieked overheard, thumping into the frozen ground some way behind the trench.

"Don't look up there, look down here," I snapped, emptying the last of the belts and tossing them over my shoulder. Staf turned away for a split second. A brief whine followed by a wet thump and a sickening crunch of bone and he was lying on the ground. "Staf?!" I dropped my rifle and knelt down next to him. A grenade round had come flying into the trench, hit Staff squarely in the jaw but refrained from exploding, instead throwing him backwards into the side of the trench and onto his back. Blood gushed from Staf's jaw. The force of the impact had forced his lower teeth into the roof of his mouth, where several were now deeply embedded. His jaw was fractured in three places.

"Lookin' good mate," I said shakily, ripping out a first aid kit and sprinkling sulpha powder on the wound. "S'alright, yer fine, everything's fine," I grinned, pulling out medical gauze from both my kit and his and wrapping it around Staf's face. I had no morphine syrette in my kit to kill the pain. Once the shock wore off, Staf would be in agony.

"How bad is it?" Staf mumbled.

"Not too bad, Staf," I said.

"But I've got blood all over myself. It can't be too good."

"Nah, mate, s'not too bad," I laughed.

"Something's in my mouth, it's cutting into my tongue," Staf said. His eyes were filled with pain. He was struggling to speak coherently. "James, if it's not too bad then why does it hurt so much?"

"Shock, mate. The cold'll numb it. You'll be fine, trust me," I finished tying off the last of the gauze around Staf's jaw. Despite my fear my fingers did not tremble. "Don't worry 'bout it," I said reassuringly, meeting Staf's gaze.

"Take off."

"Huh?"

"Take off, I'm binned."

I looked at him fiercely and said, "we're staying together no matter what!"

"You two!" Scherder stuck his head out of the tunnel mouth, "Get your bloody arses in here now!"

"Staf's hit bad!" I cried.

Scherder was there instantly. "Right, pick him up, pick him up."

Staf moaned in pain on being hoisted upright. "Grab the Lecta," he managed to say.

"Well spotted, mate," I bent down and picked the fallen Lecta up by its sling.

"Alright, in we go, careful now," Scherder and I, carrying the limp Staf in between us, ducked down into the tunnel. The sound of heavy gunfire from outside the trench pursued us.

Staf was now in terrible pain. It was so cold in the dugout without a heat source now that Staf could feel the blood freezing to his face, stemming the flow from the wound. The cold had been good for one thing at least.

After ten minutes struggling through the dank tunnels we heard a sharp hiss, followed by the metallic click of a safety being removed. "Who goes there?" a voice hissed.

"Scherder, Larn, Kulich. Kulich's wounded," Scherder said quickly. "Give us a hand!"

"Throne!" Private Vadim's pale face went whiter still on seeing the bloody state of Staf's face. "Here, come on," Vadim helped us out into a small bunker where much of the platoon were gathered.

"Onto the factory – move, dammit!" Scherder barked.

"Staf?" Martti rushed over to his friend, pushing and shoving past the rest of the platoon who were quickly vacating the dugout.

"He's alright," I quickly reassured Martti, not wanting him to let Staf in on how bad it really was.

"You sure—"

"—Course!" I thumped Martti on the shoulder to shut him up. Staf was moaning quietly.

"There-there, son, you keep quiet now. Don't want to upset the lads," Scherder whistled for a stretcher.

"Martti, take Staf. I'll have the thirty," I beckoned for Martti to hand me back the stubber and for him and Vadim to pick up Staf who lay on a stretcher.

"Everybody out now, rally at the factory!" Scherder shouted. He made sure he was the last out before hastily setting a rigged grenade by the tunnel mouth.

"C'mon, lads, move yerselves!" I ran alongside Staf's stretcher, holding the heavy stubber by its carry handle, covering the Martti and Vadim. The adrenaline from the fight coursing through me negated the strain from both the weight of the twenty-six pound stubber, the ammo belts crisscrossing my flak vest and my own rifle ammunition. All I had was a raging thirst and a mild hunger.

Down the road and around a short cliff face lay the factory. Much of it was rubble and inside many fires raged. The breaking up of steel beams and the crackle of flames was torturous to our sore eardrums. Milling around the side furthest from the frontline were the remains of 1 and 2 Platoon plus a few from the mortar platoon also left behind.

"This all there is?" Antic, his face as black as his moustache – once again – cast a glance around the odds and sods who'd escape the enemy's advance.

"One, two, three…" Scherder did a quick headcount. "Fifteen," he concluded. Delta Fireteam: Martti, Staf, Antti, Erkki and I, along with Cain Fireteam: Corporal Rauer, Lance Corporal Antic, Stimm, Vadim and Tozar. Scherder made eleven. Two men from 1 Platoon and two mortarmen had got away. Between us we had a smattering of rifle, automatics, two .30 stubber's and a single 2-inch mortar carried between the mortarmen. Altogether I would've said we had absolutely zero chance of stopping even one tank.

"What do we do now, Sarn't?" Vadim panted.

"Heh – run! Rauer grinned, putting his vile teeth on display for everyone. "You run your arse off until a commissar catches you and puts a bolt in your brain."

"This all of us then?" Antic repeated.

"No, no one else made it," Scherder replied, glancing up at the burning factory. "Stimm, you bring that vox?"

"Yeah, Sarn't," Stimm cradled a backpack in which a small vox set was held. The way he clung to it was like a mother would cling to a newborn child.

"Good, because that's our only link with headquarters," Scherder stood up and unslung his Lecta.

"Why'd they leave us here?" one of the men from 1 Platoon moaned. "Couldn't they have sent a runner or something?"

"Doesn't matter," Scherder said without a hint of bitterness. "We have a long march back to Camp Macharius. I suggest we move out with all speed."

"Sarn't," I indicated Staf. "We move too fast it could kill him."

"Leave him," Rauer spat. "Too bloody bad."

"Go boil yer 'ead, ye filthy cunt!" I picked up a handful of earth and hurled it viciously at the ugly corporal. "What if he was one o' yours?"

"Enough!" Scherder stepped in between us. "Larn, you have the stubber, you'll be out on the left flank. Take Erkki as number two. Antic, Tozar, you have the other. Position yourself on the right flank. Everyone else keep spacing and security around the stretcher bearers."

"Scherder," Antic fell in beside him as the group hurried away from the factory and out across the waste.

"I know," he replied. Scherder knew full well the open ground gave no cover and once in sight the tanks would cut everyone down with their cannon and stubbers.

"Dig in?" Antic suggested.

"Wait, I want to be further away from the factory first," Scherder said, glancing over his shoulder at the road leading over a slight rise in the land just before the frontline. The heavy tanks would find it difficult to traverse the muddy ups and downs before the trenchlines. Scherder was certain too that the infantry would wait for the armour to move out first before following on behind them. Doctrine dictated that the infantry scout ahead first for hidden anti-tank guns, hunter-killer teams or minefields. However doctrine was probably the last thing on the poorly-led Chaos rabble's mind at this stage. The survivors were likely beside themselves with relief that they had made it through the brutal storm of fire the Imperials had dished out and were content to wait for the giant protective shields the tanks would provide.

"Oi, Sarn't, where we gonna run too?" a mortar man called.

"They'll spot us out here like this!" his mate added.

"Dig in!"

"WHAT?"

"DIG IN!" Scherder made sure his voice carried out to the flanks to where Erkki and I were.

"He's crazy," Erkki said in disbelief. "He wants us to dig what, a trench?"

"Use yer loaf," I grunted, unfolding the stubber's bipod and laying it down in the mud. Pulling my entrenching tool from my belt kit, I began to attack the frozen earth. "He wants us to dig a hole – a proper one to hide in. Listen!" I held my finger up in the air and listened, "them tanks are coming now."

"Oh cripes," Erkki imitated me and furiously hacked at the ground.

"Dig in and let 'em roll over our heads!" Scherder added.

"There, see!" I laughed. "Knows what he's about, don't he."

"How we s'posed to—"

"—what they didn't train you to dig a hole in basic? What do they teach young fellas these days?"

"How can you be laughing and joking and all that when we're gonna get run over by bloody tanks in a minute?" Erkki panted, still hacking away.

"Experience mate, I've got more experience see, s'why I'm a fullscrew and you're only a ballbag,"

"A ballbag? That's a new one," Erkki spat in the dirt and wiped his mouth on the back of his gloved hand. "Cor, this ground ain't half tough."

"S'exactly the opposite o' Broucheroc, day in, day out, all we had was mud, mud, mud – the wet sort too!"

"You gonna tell us about this Broucheroc someday, Larn?" Erkki stopped momentarily and looked across at me. "What happened there?"

I paused mid-scoop, "yeah, yeah I'll tell it straight when this is over. We go out for a beer or something, all of us, then I'll tell ye."

"Keep yer word on it?"

"Sure, course, mate," I grinned. Erkki grinned back. "'Ow's that 'ole comin?"

"Never mind mine, what about yours?"

"Room to spare," I hopped down inside the hole. The brim didn't quite cover my helmet prompting another hasty bout of shovelling. "There, yours alright?"

"Yep, yep, looking good," Erkki grunted as he squeezed his shoulders downwards.

"Rifle!" I handed him his weapon. Spaced out evenly were now fourteen small holes, wide enough to accept an average-sized man crouching down. "Staf," I realised Staf did not or rather could not dig for himself. "Shit, Staf."

"What? Staf, how's he gonna dig?" Erkki hoisted himself up and looked along the line at Staf lying on the stretcher.

"Scherder," I saw the sergeant drape a blanket over Staf's body, covering his face too.

"Is he…?" Erkki made to exit his hole.

"They might think he's dead," I waved a hand, signalling Erkki to get back inside. "Get down, I can hear the tanks coming." Hurrying over to the stubber, I gripped the bipod and folded it inwards, further removing the ammunition and slinging the cloth-linked cartridges over my shoulder. Dropping down in my hole, I held the stubber close to me and looked up at the round patch of dark grey sky above. The distant rumble had grown into a tremendous roar. I tried to worm myself deeper into the ground and pull the stubber closer so its muzzle wasn't poking out of the hole. The dirt walls started to tremble. Cold earth was shaken loose and dumped on top of my helmet, some of it sliding off and finding the gaps between my neck and the collar of my flak jacket. Coughing, I pressed my head into my neck, mumbling a prayer I thought I'd forgotten. The ground was shaking itself to pieces now. Then the light above me vanished. I tried to scream but the collapsing walls of my hole toppled inwards, pressing into me, forcing its way into my lungs. In my mind the earth morphed into a sticky, black liquid poured down my throat by dark-eyed xenos in black. Spitting the muck from my mouth, I gathered enough breathe to scream loudly enough to wake the dead. I got it all out in that hole.

* * *

 _15 klicks north…_

"Cain Cain Three Three, this is Three Three Alpha, comm check, over."

Corporal Otto Rinek waited for his turn then keyed his mic, "hello Three Three Alpha, this is Three Three Cain, standing by, over."

Otto Rinek's troop of three Leman Russ tanks was positioned just behind the crest of a sweeping hill overlooking the forward edge of the battle area. 3 Troop, along with 1 Troop and 2 Troop of 'C' Squadron were awaiting the order to advance to their objective from the squadron OC. When the order came, 3 Alpha would relay it to his troop commanders who would then pass it onto the tanks in their respective troop.

 _Eleven tanks,_ Rinek mused. A single squadron detached to make a feint from the north did not seem like a particularly wise move on his behalf. The Green Slime hadn't seen fit to provide any useful gen on what exactly the enemy's strength was, where he was positioned or the type of infantry, armour or artillery he had. _Seems like a waste of fuel and manpower_ _just to cover some poor bloody infantry's arses._

"Cain Cain Three Three, this is Three Three Alpha, advance to Objective Link, over," Rinek's troop commander, Sergeant Eli Mazak, ordered.

"Three Three Alpha, this is Three Three Bravo, copy," Corporal Yul Zarquast said.

"Three Three Alpha, this is Three Three Cain, roger," Rinek said quickly before switching to the crew intercom. "Driver, advance."

"Righto," Trooper Teren Runz ceased revving Bomb's engine and shifted the tank into first.

"Keep formation as we go over the crest. Ozzi, keep your eyes peeled."

"Right, Corp," Trooper Fil Ozymandias replied.

"Gol, you good?"

"Bored, Otto, need to kill something," Trooper Gol Gollius grunted.

"Plenty of stuff to kill just over this hill, be patient," Rinek said. His eyes were glued to the commander's vision blocks in Bomb's cupola as the squadron rolled slowly up the hillside. For a precious few moments their thinly-armoured bellies would be exposed to enemy fire when they reached the crest. Then after what seemed like a painfully long pause the tanks would slam down onto the opposite slope and charge forwards towards their objective across the waste.

"Three Three Cain, this is Three Three Alpha, you're drifting. Watch your line, out."

Rinek swung his vision block around to the right and noticed the gap between them and Zarquast's tank was lessening. "Teren, watch your spacing, we're getting too close to Three One."

"Got it, Corp," Teren monitored his distance between Zarquast's tank and made adjustments. Being the third tank in 3 Troop, Bomb was way out on the left flank with no one covering their left. 2 Troop was on their right followed by the pair of tanks in the squadron HQ and 1 Troop was strung out on the far right of the line.

 _This is foolish. We shouldn't be out on our own like this. There should be at least a squadron in reserve, hull-down on the hill behind us,_ Rinek thought all the while scanning for targets through his x1 cupola periscope. Ozzi too had his eye to his x1 in his tank laser sight. Once Golli had loaded a round and Rinek released the grip switch Ozzi would have total control, allowing him to fine lay the gun.

"Cain Cain Three Three, this is Three Three Alpha. Three One is in contact…" a pause. "Three Two also in contact, out."

"Lads, 1 and 2 Troop are in contact. I think we're next," Rinek said to the crew. "Standby." No sooner had he said it, Sergeant Mazak's voice was in his ear.

"Cain Cain Three Three, this is Three Three Alpha, contact, contact. Leman Russ's to your front, engage, out."

"Gunner, do you have a target?" Rinek asked calmly.

"Negative, Corp, I don't see anything—" Ozzi's voice faltered when a streak of light flashed past Bomb's right flank.

Rinek saw the muzzle flash and switched to his x10 sight. "AP, tank…" On the command Golli grabbed an armour-piercing shell from the ammunition rack and thrust it into the breech before moving out of the gun's way and grabbing another AP shell.

"Up!" he cried.

Rinek laid his bore sight marker on the distant hull of the target, 1800 yards away, then said, "…on." As he did so, Rinek released the grip switch and let Ozzi make the precise corrections.

"Lasing… on!" Ozzi declared he was ready to fire.

Happy that the engagement could be continued, Rinek barked, "FIRE!"

"Firing now!" On the 'ow of now' Ozzi squeezed his firing switch and felt the tank shake as the round was fired. Watching closely, Ozzi saw it fly straight and true, right smack-bang into the hull of the enemy tank. Bomb's 125 mm rifled vanquisher cannon cut through the frontal plate of like a hot knife through butter. The result was a quickly brewed-up vehicle. "Target," Ozzi grinned.

"Target. Nice shot, Ozzi. Next target right, Leman Russ—" Rinek was interrupted when the target in question had its turret blown off by a shot from either Zarquast's or Mazak's tank. "Target, stop. Check muzzle reference," _1600 yards, good shot._

"Good shooting, Ozzi!" Teren hooted. Golli congratulated him also.

"How's the rest of the squadron doing?" Ozzi, cool and calm, unlike the other two, asked.

"Uhh," Rinek glanced to his right. 1 and 2 Troop were still in engagement. Their rate of fire seemed to outmatch the enemy's. Despite that one of the tanks in 2 Troop had come to a halt. Rinek couldn't see what the cause was. Beyond that a vehicle in 1 Troop was burning fiercely. "One and Two Troop have lost a tank each. Not too bad – could be worse."

Nine tanks now remained. Rinek watched the flaming hulks of seven Russ and Predator tanks grow larger as the squadron advanced on their first objective. A smattering of infantry popped up and tried to engage them with a few shoulder-fired rockets. Idiotic, since it provoked every tank to open up with their bow and co-ax pieces, completely shredding the Perfs whose nerve broke, causing them to flee. A few seconds of stubber fire and every single one of them were now dead or dying.

"Objective Link achieved, zero eight one zero. Not bad timing," Rinek remarked.

"More!" Ozzi had spotted more armour approaching. This time they were much closer: twelve hundred yards.

"AP, tank…"

"Up!" Golli moved away from the breach and plucked a fresh shell from the rack.

"On," Rinek gave control to Ozzi and waited.

"Lasing…" Ozzi sighted on the nearest of the troop of newly-arrived Russ's. "On!"

Rinek felt a slight hint of dread as he saw two of the Russ' gun tubes traverse right to target Bomb. Praying Ozzi's aim was good, he barked, "FIRE!"


	27. Chapter 26

08:11/M41/02-40.998/The Frontline/Nemesis Tessera/Nemesis System/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

Thick, choking smoke filled Bomb's interior as a glancing blow ricocheted off the side of the turret making the tank shake violently. The accompanying noise, gonglike, was deafening and reverberated around the fighting compartment.

"Firing now!" Ozzi squeezed the firing switch. Bomb lurched as the gun fired. The second of the two Russ's targeting them – unlike the first – had its ammunition cooked off, brewing the vehicle up and forcing the crew to bail out. "Target!" Ozzi cried.

"Target!" Rinek however wasn't finished. He saw the four unarmed crewmen making a run for it, desperately zigzagging, quite likely praying that they wouldn't be gunned down. It pained Rinek to have to do it, but it had to be done. If he let the crew escape they would only find another vehicle, come back out here and cause the deaths of more friendlies. Rinek did not attempt to conceal the reluctance in his voice when he ordered Ozzi to target the enemy crew. "Next target, left. Gunner, co-ax, infantry!"

"Mow 'em down!" Golli laughed gleefully as Ozzi fired Bomb's coaxial stubber at the fleeing crew. The bright red tracerfire, walking left to right, hit three of them who slumped on the ground like ragdolls. The last one, forgoing any evasive movement whatsoever, ran flat out in a straight line, his arms flailing about madly. Rinek imagined the tankie, frightened out of his mind, hearing the bodies of his friends fall to the ground around him, quickly realise with horror that he was all alone. A second burst from Ozzi halted him in his tracks. Like with the others, the crewman fell face forwards like a sack of potatoes and lay still.

"Target," Ozzi said, this time without his usual enthusiasm.

"Target stop." Rinek swung his vision block around, searching for more targets but found none. The two enemy tanks had only managed one hit between them before Bomb's cannon had wiped them both out. That was the cause of the smoke along with the cannon's reciprocation, the act of which shook dirt and dust loose that found its way into noses, mouths and clung to hair and clothing.

"Aah, three more are gone," Rinek's voice was bitter on seeing C Squadron's number whittled away again. 1 Troop and 2 Troop had lost another tank each. The Squadron HQ had lost its 2IC, a young replacement subaltern whose name Rinek did not know. It left six tanks. Rinek had no illusions that his career in the Imperial Armoured Corps might suddenly come to a violent, burning end. But like this – casually sacrificed for some other unit's safety – rode him up the wall the wrong way.

"Cain Cain Three Three, this is Three Three Alpha, advance to Objective Lucius, out."

"Teren, keep your heading. Eyes peeled boys." Rinek lifted his head out of the open hatch and glanced across at the other two tanks in 3 Troop. Both were unscathed. Further away down the line gaps had opened in between the other troops and the squadron HQ. "Better dress that line," Rinek muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. He was now worried about small groups of hidden infantry picking on the individual tanks in 1 or 2 Troop and assaulting from the vulnerable flanks or rear. Though Rinek had thought of it, it was not his place to be advising the squadron OC. He dearly hoped that the captain had thought of it too and would rapidly issue orders to close the gaps.

Suddenly Bomb slid to the right and stopped with a violent jerk that knocked Rinek and Ozzi over to the right. Golli had been thrown too, judging from the string of oaths in Rinek's ear. As Bomb tried to regain balance, Teren gunned the engine. But Bomb did not move. Rinek pulled himself back up into the cupola and stuck his head outside. They had slid sideways into a shell hole. Teren tried again to drive out but failed. They were stuck.

"Beached here, Rinek," Teren grunted, shunting through the gears. "Can't move her."

"Yeah, I see," Rinek picked up his mic and switched to troop frequency. "Hello Three Three Alpha, this is Three Three Cain, we are bogged down, unable to advance, over." Lifting his finger from the talk button, Rinek waited for the reply. He could see Zarquast and Mazak's tanks moving away from them unaware Bomb wasn't advancing on their left as she should be. "Hello Three Three Alpha, this is Three Three Cain, I say again, we are bogged down, unable to advance, over," Rinek repeated. He could see, clear as day, both commanders riding unbuttoned in their turrets. A mere glance over the left shoulder would've got the message across. Frustratingly both Mazak and Zarquast were too focused on the objective to bother looking round. "Come on!" Rinek dropped his mic and slid back down into the turret. He thumped the vox set with his fist in frustration. "Of all the…"

"Semaphore?" Ozzi shrugged.

"Shut up, Ozzi!" Rinek snapped. Wrenching his periscope around to the front, he watched the five other tanks drive off into the distance. How could they not know Bomb had fallen behind? A simple visual check employing the ever-dependable Mark I eyeball would have done it. Seething, Rinek undid the chinstrap of his bone dome helmet and loosened the collar of his grimy overalls. Maybe they did know, but were under orders to press on regardless; advancing into the face of death until everyone was dead. There was a word for that sort of mindset and that was cavalier. That word most definitely did not belong in the brigade's lexicon. Yet the morons at HQ blithely acted with that attitude nonetheless.

Biting on the fingertip of one of his gloves, Rinek yanked it off and wiped his hand down his face. "Teren lay off the accelerator, we're not going anywhere. You might be making it worse."

"Right, Corp," Teren lifted his foot off of the pedal. The roar died away, replaced with the low growl of the idling engine. Ozzi and Golli turned and stared at Rinek, wide-eyed and fearful. They were waiting, hoping their commander had a brilliant idea.

 _Why me? Why in the Warp me?_ He felt lost. His crew were looking at him to magically produce the right answer. Maybe there was no right answer this time. Then again maybe there was.

"Right, stay here. Ozzi, cover me with the co-ax, I'm going outside for a look." Rinek took one of the tank's autopistols, a Stronica automatic, and loaded it before heading back up to the open hatch. "Alright," Rinek muttered. He disconnected the wires that trailed from his helmet's intercom and made sure the Stronica was cocked. Holding the compact weapon above his head, Rinek jumped out of the commander's hatch and rolled down the side of the turret. The burn mark where Bomb had taken a hit had quickly cooled but glowed faintly. It had left a nasty gash in Bomb's cheek but aside from the vox no other damage had been sustained. Dropping to the ground below, Rinek paused and looked at his surroundings. The landscape was pockmarked with artillery craters stretching for kilometres before them and on both flanks. To their rear were the brightly burning hulks of the group of tanks the Squadron had encountered. Even further back, almost lost in the thin mist that had arisen out of nowhere were the first two casualties. Closing his eyes briefly, Rinek listened. The noise of battle found its way to his ears. The rest of the squadron were, by the sounds of it, in the fight of their lives somewhere to their front. Cursing inwardly, Rinek felt a tranquil fury grip him. He could do nothing but listen to the sounds of his friends who were maybe dying out there. And here they were, stranded inbetween armies, trapped in a silent void of flaming steel carcasses and riddled flesh.

Rinek's eyes snapped open when he heard the faraway moan of artillery. _Shit_ , he froze and listened again. The _oooohh_ was coming closer and closer, growing louder as it did. The familiar sound of an invisible freight train flying through the sky grew torturous to his ears. Throwing himself down beside Bomb, Rinek clamped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes tight shut. He could sense when the impact would come. Just before the tremendous crash, Rinek lifted his head off of the ground slightly to save the pain of the vibration that would ripple through the earth. Less than a heartbeat later a painfully loud bang sounded to the right of Bomb. Raising himself to look, Rinek saw the huge spray of earth flung upwards at least eighty feet away. _Ranging shot_ , he thought, _more where that came from soon_. Rinek quickly became motivated to get on with the inspection.

The track he was lying next to was still on all the road wheels and the drive sprocket. They hadn't thrown a track. " _Thank you, Omnissiah, thank you_ ," Rinek whispered. He crawled along the track as close as he could for safety, wanting to look between the road wheels. The other track was also on. When he reached the rear of the tank, he founds mounds of loose dirt the tracks had been building up to their rear. Both tracks had obviously been spinning free. As Rinek crawled around to the rear of the tank and looked under the hull he found the cause of the problem. The tank was hung up on a sharp outcrop of rock. As Bomb had advanced, it had straddled the rock and driven itself upwards. To make matters worse, there was a shell crater to the right of the tanks that the right track had dropped into just as Bomb had bellied out on the outcrop.

The obvious solution would be to use another tank to tow them out of their predicament with cables. But all the remaining tanks had run off to Objective Lucius. Rinek ruled out sitting and waiting for someone to come back when a second artillery shell landed, this time sixty yards to the left. _They're getting closer,_ the little voice in his head said mockingly. Throwing dirt underneath the tracks wouldn't work. The tracks would simply pile it up onto the mounds of dirt they were already building. Something hefty would need to be shoved under the right track to let it rise up and carry Bomb off the rock. _Trees perhaps?_ Rinek couldn't see a single tree stump about. Come to think of it he hadn't seen a single tree on the entire planet. It was just hard earth and ice with the occasional flurry of snow sprinkled on top.

Climbing back onto Bomb, Rinek called softly into the turret, "Golli, need you out here! Bring the hammer."

"What is it then?" Golli, armed with a large hammer, leapt down onto the ground and peered underneath the tank. "Aah, outcrop."

"Need the cables," Rinek indicated Golli to help him remove the steel tow cables.

"That arty's coming closer," Golli muttered as he and Rinek laid the two cables out one either side of the tanks. Another round landed close enough for a few shell fragments to zing against Bomb's left flank or whiz past, narrowly missing the two men who had dived prone on the other side.

"Certainly appear so," Rinek replied casually. As they lay there, Rinek explained what they were going to do. The plan was to hook the tow cables together in front of the tank. They would then wrap the cables around the two tracks at the front of the tank so that the tow cables stretched from one track to the other. When Teren put Bomb into first gear, the tracks would move the cables back along the ground. In the process, the cables would catch on the outcrop. Hopefully, as the tracks continued to try and pull the cables back, they would stay caught on the rock and pull Bomb forwards and off onto level ground. It was worth a shot.

"Okay, Golli, get back up inside and tell Teren to stick it in first and apply power gently," Rinek said once the cables were fastened tight in the right places. The return of the artillery prompted Rinek to grab Golli's arm and pull him back down before he could clamber aboard the tank.

"Bloody hell, that's getting close," Golli gasped, brushing himself off and hoisting himself up onto Bomb's hull. Rinek couldn't agree more. They had been sitting idle out there for far too long. It wouldn't be long until the artillery's probing rounds found something.

A sudden ear-splitting rip of canvas, which was what it sounded like in Rinek's ear, banished all thoughts of the artillery from his mind. Above Bomb flashed green tracerfire, some of it pinging off of the hull and turret. Golli, caught with one leg into the commander's hatch, clamped a hand on his arm. Pulling his leg back out, Golli toppled off of the hull and landed hard in the mud.

"Golli? Where?" Rinek pulled him upright and sat him against Bomb's flank. "Where you hit?"

"My arm," Golli groaned. "S'alright, just a nick I think." His arm was bleeding though it didn't look too severe.

"Pressure on it!" Rinek looked upwards at Bomb's turret which traversed left to target the unseen foe. The slow chatter of the co-ax lessened the weight of the fire directed at them. Ozzi was engaging targets at the eleven o'clock position, infantry for certain as Rinek hadn't heard another machine nearby. "Stay down," Rinek patted Golli on the shoulder then began to edge around the rear of Bomb. Moving into a crouch, Rinek slapped the back of the Stronica's receiver, extending a folded stock, and nestled it into his shoulder. He flicked a small switch near the trigger, setting the weapon to full auto. Peering around the tank, Rinek saw what looked like a platoon's worth of infantry who, by the look of things, had tried to sneak up on Bomb but one of their own had lost his nerve and opened up. _Thank the Omnissiah they don't have AT_. The moment the thought passed through his mind a pair of militiamen, one carrying a large tube on his shoulder, popped up at Bomb's nine. _Uh-oh,_ Rinek saw the gaping hole where the warhead would be fired from and the angle it would impact at. Bomb's side armour was severely weaker than its front. It had been proven that a side-on shot at close range with a shaped-charge warhead could easily penetrate the steel plate and ignite the ammunition rack, causing a massive internal fire that would quickly cook off the explosives stored within. _Not today, lads,_ Rinek brought the Stronica up and aimed squarely at the anti-tank gunner. Squeezing the trigger gently, Rinek felt the weapon kick sharply before settling into a comfortable rhythm. A seven-round burst, guided from right to left, did for both men. Both had forgone flak jackets or body armour, a trade-off of protection for mobility, the trade-off however resulting in both their deaths.

Without even waiting to see whether either had survived, Rinek rushed back around to Golli. The loader had used an emergency bandage he had on him to wrap up his bad arm. Now he looked up at Rinek expectantly.

"What?" Rinek mouthed, slightly deaf in one ear from the gunfire.

"Done playing soldier?" Golli nodded up at Bomb. "Her Ladyship's waiting."

"Get up there, you groxbrain, tell Teren to—"

"—low gear, low power, check," Golli replied.

Ozzi had reduced his rate of fire now. The infantry's sneak attack had been foiled, leaving them without an anti-tank weapon and rendering them powerless to take down Bomb. The reduced threat of the infantry still made Rinek take extra care in remounting. As he climbed back into the commander's cupola, he noticed for the first time that Bomb had lost its antennas. Both were sheared off at the base. That explained why the tanks had not stopped when he had called them. There was no fault in the onboard vox unit. It did little to alleviate the stress Rinek was under. It wasn't until he slammed the hatch shut above his head and locked it he let his breath out.

"Right, Teren you hear me?" Rinek divested himself of the Stronica and reconnected his headset's intercom. Ozzi put one more burst of fire into the dead infantry outside just to make sure they weren't faking it before reassuming his position on the other side of the gun, allowing Golli to take the co-ax.

"Yeah, we ready to go?" Teren asked impatiently, instinctively ducking as another, closer shell, exploded right beside Bomb.

"Give it some beans, gently now."

"Righto," Teren eased the power on a fraction. The cables were dragged under and caught on the outcrop as expected. As they caught, Teren gave it some more which took the slack out of the cables, making them taught. For a moment the tracks stopped and the engine began to strain. Rinek hoped the hooks the cable ends were attached to could stand the pressure and not snap. If it worked, Bomb would be free.

"She's not liking this, Otto," Teren winced as the hull screeched and moaned across the bare rock. The cables held thankfully. Gradually Bomb began to move and rise up over the rock. Once the tank's centre of gravity was past the stump, Bomb's nose flopped down. The tracks dug into the ground and Bomb began to roll forwards on its own.

"We out?" Teren shouted.

"Nice job, Teren," Ozzi laughed. "Never thought the word gently was in your lexicon."

"How 'bout that," Golli massaged his wounded arm. "Clever trick that was, Otto, didn't think you paid that much attention in tank school."

"Off the top of my head that was," Rinek nudged Golli's arm was his foot gently, provoking an outraged response.

"OW! I wanna keep this arm. Take it home to mother. I'll tell her all about that, Otto! She'll destroy you!"

"Alright, alright! As you were, boys, we've still got a job to do. Teren, bring us up to the rear of the squadron sharpish."

Unlocking his hatch, Rinek poked his head up and glassed the light mist into which the other tanks had disappeared. _I wonder if there's any of the squadron left_. _Is there even any point in going on?_ The decision was still being weighed in Rinek's mind when Teren accelerated, with a good deal more caution than before, and drove forwards into the mist.

* * *

Romus Verne felt the blood rush to his head as he watched the battle play out before his eyes. The thumping inside his ear was potent enough to muffle the throaty roar of Fiducia's revving engine. Inches from his periscope, Verne's eyes were wide and unblinking. There wasn't enough time to blink lest he lose track of the engagement. His warm breath kept fogging the periscope, forcing him to rub the condensation away with his glove and readjust it.

Sitting hull-down in a natural dip in the land, Fiducia watched and waited as eleven Predator Deimos and Leman Russ tanks slugged it out with a force half its size. The Chaos vehicles, fifty yards to Fiducia's front, were trading fire with five Imperial Russ' 600 yards distant; a close range engagement. Through the patchy mist, Verne saw white streaks of light fly back and forth though it was more back at the Chaos tanks than at the Imperials. Although the Imperials were outnumbered two to one their rate of fire proved otherwise. For every shot that was fired at them, the Imperials replied with two, both with deadly accuracy. Verne had never been on the receiving end of Imperial gunnery before. It was not a prospect he harboured warm thoughts on. But he had to give it to the armoured farmers; crew for crew they were the best in the galaxy. Not a soul could match their discipline, accuracy, or average confirmed kills.

Though he was not in communication with any of the allied tanks, Verne imagined the hideous screams from crews who were unable to bail out in time and were cooked alive inside their vehicles. The plaintive moaning and crying from men who'd been mutilated by fragments of the inside of the tank's armour – spall – dug a knife into his heart. He'd seen the effect spall had on flesh. It was not a pleasant sight. The smell however was worse than anything his eyes could've seen.

Verne ground his teeth together in anguish as tank after tank was knocked out. For every two or three Chaos tanks destroyed, the Imperials lost one themselves. In mere minutes the battlefield was dotted with smoking wrecks on both sides of the fight. Many of them burned brightly as their ammunition racks cooked off. All that remained were solitary shining torches in the mist. With the machines gone, the crews tried to get away only for tracerfire, Imperial red and Chaos green, to reach out their long fingers and poke the tankies to death with steel-tipped bullets. Even when every single crewman was lying in the mud, the guns still raked back and forth, peppering the corpses, decorating the land with dark, sticky blood.

"Is it over?" Karl Kense asked quietly. Verne said nothing. No one said anything.

"Did we win?" Ferd Gaspol looked up at Verne as if he had the answer.

"I don't think anybody won," Ense Dalman said woodenly. Like with Verne, Ense was staring intensely at his periscope.

"Were we s'posed to be in that?" Karl's voice wavered slightly. "That could've been us out there y'know."

Verne kept quiet about that. They were supposed to act as heavy support for the tanks by hanging back and providing fire when needed. Verne's superiors were ignorant on Fiducia's actual role which was to demolish enemy fortifications, not provide long range fire to which their 152 mm howitzer was wholly unsuited. Verne's heart was lifted at that little crumb of knowledge his cruel officers did not know about. This way his crew's and Fiducia's lives were lengthened for that much longer. He did not know for how long though.

"CONTACT!" Ense's warning cry nearly made Verne leap right out of Fiducia. _What, more?_ Verne took hold of his periscope and scanned the surroundings. The thin patches of mist, though slowly lifting, still concealed small patches of ground, but nothing large enough for a tank to hide behind. _Where the hell is…?_ Verne swung his scope past a dark shape, not thinking it was anything of interest, until an instinct made him rescan the area. Out of the mist came a single tank. Its commander was riding unbuttoned and looking through a pair of binoculars. The range was 500 yards.

 _Tank!_ _He's all alone too_ ; _a late straggler?_ Taking a breath, Verne started issuing orders,"AP, tank…"

"…ON!" Otto Rinek handed control of the gun to Ozzi.

"Lasing… on," Ozzi replied instantly.

"FIRE!"

"FIRING NOW!" Bomb shook from the gun's blast. Rinek had spotted the boxy tank, lying hull-down in a good position 600 yards away, and barked orders for a round of smoke to be loaded. He watched as the round arced gently until impact where it exploded in a cloud of white phosphorus, obscuring the enemy tank. The detonation reached his ears a fraction of a second later. "Driver, gun it, all you've got! He's gonna come forwards so let's flank him from the left— copy?"

"Alright, got it!" Teren groaned as he dragged the left-hand control stick back into his chest. Bomb swung hard to the left, its tracks churning up mud. Rinek watched the cloud of smoke through his glasses. It wouldn't be long before the enemy either advanced into battle to meet them, or switched to his heat-see. Rinek dearly hoped it wouldn't be the latter.

"BASTARD! I got no visual, Romus," Ferd Gaspol cried. Thick white smoke, blanketing Fiducia, now prevented any visual scanning.

"Switch to heat-see!" Romus Verne shouted.

As Ferd slid the sight shutter into place, the view of the smokescreen was shut out. But instead of the green thermal image, the sight remained black. "Heat-see's out!"

 _Buggeration!_ Verne fumed. Yet another problem had sprung up, at the worst possible time to boot. "Switch back to day-sight and load HEAT – driver, make ready!"

"We going forwards or back, Verne?" Ense Dalman asked, poised and ready to put Fiducia in gear.

"Forwards – gunner, standby for target," Verne said confidently. They would meet the enemy head-on. Fiducia's armour would protect them from anything.

"Loaded!" Uli Wrun, with some difficulty, assembled the two-piece round and hoisted up into the gun. The heavy clunk of the breech snapping shut was audible even over Ense revving the engine.

Clambering up into the commander's cupola, Verne pushed open the hatch and raised his head up to peer over the rim. The smoke was impenetrable. But somewhere out there was the one remaining Imperial tank. The Russ posed little threat to Fiducia but it was a threat nonetheless. At such short distance the engagement would be decided in one or two exchanges. Pressing the talk button his mic, Verne said, "driver, advance!"

"He's coming up!" Rinek saw the blocky black smudge inside the smoke a few moments before its shape became identifiable.

"What the hell is _that?_ " Teren's mouth dropped at the sight of the tank's gigantic turret and the monster gun it housed. Rinek had only seen images of such a beast during vehicle recognition lectures and had never encountered one on the battlefield. To face such a powerhouse one-on-one was like him picking up an unfamiliar weapon, pointing it at his head and pulling the trigger over and over again to see what would happen. Rinek recalled the name with a jolt of fear — _Ragnarok_.

His mouth went dry. His face grew hot and sweaty in anxiety and as the great lumbering beast drove up out of the ditch it had hidden in. There was no question about it, unless they could flank it and land a good shot to the tracks or to the engine, they were dead.

"Bloody massive," Golli glanced over his shoulder at Rinek who'd frozen momentarily.

"AP, tank…"

Golli had an armour-piercing round loaded in an instant. "UP!"

 _Five hundred yards – spitting distance,_ Rinek fought to control his hammering heartbeat as he laid his BSM on the centre mass of the Ragnarok. "ON!"

"Lasing… on!" Ozzi said.

"FIRE!"

"FIRING NOW!" Ozzi stabbed the firing switch. His eyes followed the shell as it streaked towards the Ragnarok _, come on, come on._ He swore silently when, to his disbelief, the round slammed into the front hull and flew off into the sky. The impact had left a large dent but had completely failed to penetrate.

"Fire when ready!" Verne cried, a little too high-pitched for his liking, but the solid impact on the glacis from the enemy gunfire had rattled everyone despite it only scratching the surface. Now in the clear, Verne realised the hostile tank had a long Vanquisher cannon, giving it an edge in tank-killing over its less well-armed brothers. He now wanted more than ever to destroy it before it destroyed him.

"Firing now," Ferd said, quickly checking Uli was out of the way of the howitzer's recoil trail before stabbing the firing solenoid with his foot. If the enemy tank's gun was a solid crack, Fiducia's bunker-buster was an ear-splitting, teeth-rattling explosion of gunpowder and dust. Even with his head outside of the fighting compartment, Verne's ears rang and his vision blurred in the aftermath of the shot.

 _Blast it!_ Verne's face contorted in anger as the massive shell landed twenty feet to the left of the Vanquisher and slightly behind. Even then that near miss was enough to give the enemy crew a terrible fright. He pitied them in a way. To be the sole focus of such a potent killer of men must've had every single one of them in there absolutely bricking it.

"Hit 'em again!" Rinek barked. He and his crew were taken by surprise at just how insanely powerful the Ragnarok's gun was when the shot exploded just to the right of Bomb and dumped a heavy shower of earth on Rinek's head. The force from even that near-miss was enough to make Bomb slew to one side. For a moment, Rinek thought they'd become bogged down again and was about to give the order to bail out when Teren found traction and brought the tank around. As Bomb's gun levelled, Ozzi fired. The shell dinked harmlessly off of the Ragnarok's nose, producing a small cloud of smoke, then flew away.

"THIS IS SUICIDE!" Ozzi screamed, spittle flying from his mouth. Bomb's cannon just would not penetrate, being stonewalled every time by the nigh-impenetrable armour.

"Be calm, lads, we're gonna win this fight!" Rinek kept his voice loud but calm. He put his finger on the button that would fire Bomb's smoke grenade launchers and pressed. Bomb was covered with a curtain of white smoke, obstructing its view, but more importantly, the enemy's view. "Driver, forward, give it full boot, we'll get round behind big boy and take him from behind – copy?"

"HO!" Teren pushed the accelerator down as far as it would go, praying to the Omnissiah for traction. Bomb had had its speed governor – standard in the normally ponderous Russ's – removed granting her much higher speed and manoeuvrability at the cost of greater strain on the engine. Teren now used every bit of the ungoverned engine's power to charge ahead, praying all the while.

"Driver, halt!" Verne called to Ense.

"Say again, Verne?" Ense replied scratchily.

"ALL STOP!" Verne bellowed. A comms issue now would mean the difference between life and death. Fiducia's endless problems would be the death of him and his entire crew.

"Got it," Ense slammed on the brakes, bringing Fiducia to a dead halt. Verne had seen the smoke screen discharged by the Vanquisher and deduced it was trying to flank Fiducia.

"Reverse, reverse – don't let him get behind us!" Verne barked.

"Reversing," Ense dragged his gearstick into reverse. Beside him, Karl Kense swung his heavy bolter around to the right and let loose a volley of shells. In response, the enemy gunner replied with his co-ax. Both exchanges bounced harmlessly off of the tank's respective armour plate.

"C'mon, Teren, everything you've got!" Rinek snarled. Bomb was outrunning its smokescreen and would soon be back in the open. On breaking through the curtain, Rinek saw the Ragnarok was much closer and trundling backwards. Its turret was now slowly tracking them to the right. Rinek's opposite number too had his head out of the turret, his eyes fixed on Bomb.

"FIRE AT WILL!" Rinek ordered Ozzi who fired an – admittedly pointless – round that failed to even dent the Ragnarok's gun mantlet. "Teren, keep it up, you're almost clear!" Rinek shouted in encouragement. The enemy vehicle's turret traverse was painfully slow. If he had chosen to swing the entire hull around then Bomb would've been mincemeat.

"Driver, halt, right!" Verne glanced down into the Fiducia's spacious interior, "gunner, right."

"I'm losing him," Ferd frantically spun the turret traverse wheel, desperately trying to keep his crosshairs on the Vanquisher.

"Driver, right!" Verne repeated when Ense did nothing. Fiducia was stationary and the enemy tank was fast coming up on her flank.

"…understand you, Verne," Ense's voice came through weakly. "Say again?"

"DRIVER, RIGHT!" Verne screamed. Fiducia jolted as another hit, glancing, connected with her flank. Finally it seemed Ense got the message as Fiducia's tracks spun, bringing the hull about. But he might've been too late.

"Lasing… on!" Ozzi cried, his optics resting squarely on the Ragnarok's rear armour.

"FIRE!"

"FIRING NOW!" Ozzi fired. The shell, despite being fired a point-blank range, screeched across the rear deck of the Ragnarok and ploughed into the ground several hundred yards away.

"HE'S COMING ROUND!" Teren swung his periscope and saw the massive turret along with the hull turning slowly to reacquire Bomb. They'd only have one more chance to score a good enough hit before that monstrous gun obliterated Bomb.

"SHOOT THE BASTARD!" Verne cried shrilly. Uli Wrun, groaning from the weight of the shell parts, assembled the round and rammed it into the breech.

"UP!"

"UP!" Simultaneously, Golli thrust an AP round into Bomb's cannon.

"ON!" Ozzi felt his stomach drop out of his body as the Ragnarok's cannon's ugly black muzzle stopped turning and aimed squarely at him.

"FIRE!" Rinek screamed.

"FIRE!" Verne cried.

Bomb was quicker. At a mere thirty yards, the armour-piercing round punched a wide round hole in Fiducia's rear armour and ignited her fuel tanks. The fierce explosion wrecked Fiducia's engine and sent the entire rear compartment up in flames. A second round from Bomb halted her in her tracks.

"Target," Ozzi gasped.

"Target, stop," Rinek let out a long, slow breathe and ordered Teren to halt. "Good shooting, Ozzi. Excellent job all of you."

Verne, conscious of the flames springing up around him, kicked out the turret's side hatch. "EVERYONE OUT, NOW!"

Above the crackle, Verne could hear someone moaning in pain over the intercom. Ferd and Uli, both shaken but unhurt, he helped out of the side hatch. Karl or Ense must've been hit. "Go round and help Ense," Verne said in Ferd's ear before he slipped out of the turret. Picking up a thermite grenade, Verne ducked out after the other two and scrambled along Fiducia's hull. The smoke coming from the engine stung his eyes, making him cough and splutter. The flames licking around the ammo racks reminded him of Fiducia's inevitable demise. He was sorry to see her go. But the safety of the crew came first. He wanted them all to be at a safe distance before Fiducia went up.

"Ense? Karl?" Verne dived down and grabbed Ense's limp arm which was hanging partway out of his hatch. Ferd and Uli were busy hoisting a wounded Karl from the assistant driver's seat.

"C'mon, Ense, we're all getting out of here," Verne grunted, struggling to hoist the heavy driver out of the tight hatch. Ferd and Uli pulled Karl free, helped him down to the ground then gave Verne a hand in rescuing Ense.

"Is he dead? Is he dead?" Verne asked, fearful that his driver had perished.

"Wounded," Ferd, ashen-faced, replied.

"I'm alright, I can walk," Karl muttered. He was bleeding from both legs as well as the torso.

"Ense is unconscious," Uli, equally shaken, said.

"What about that tank?"

"You boys get out of here, I'll distract it," Verne said, drawing a laspistol in one hand and holding the thermite grenade in the other. "Move fast. Keep Fiducia between you and it. I'll catch up to you."

"Romus, we can't—"

Verne cut him off angrily, "Ense and Karl need medical attention. Find the nearest Imperial outpost and surrender. You'll get better treatment there than here – go on, go!"

Ferd and Uli, supporting Ense between them, made off as quickly as they could with Karl beside them. "Come on then," Verne, taking a deep breathe, charged out from behind the swiftly immolating Fiducia, firing his laspistol at the Vanquisher tank. Ducking into a shell hole, Verne fired again and again, waving his arms and shouting, trying to gain its attention. Infuriatingly it disregarded him completely and began to drive away. Verne bounded after it, whooping wildly, shouting in anguish at having his tank, his home, destroyed with such ease. It wasn't fair that such an inferior vehicle beat him in a one-on-one. He wanted them to pay.

Then, as quickly as it started, the tank stopped. With a whir the turret began to traverse. _This is it!_ Verne fired another few shots and jumped into a crater to hide, hoping to confuse it. But the long gun did not traverse around to the rear, rather it stopped halfway. A long rattle of gunfire froze Verne to the spot. He stared in horror as tracerfire streaked towards his crew who were struggling to get away. Uli fell. Karl fell. Ferd, holding Ense upright, turned and waved a white rag at the tank and shouted. Bullets caught Ferd in the chest and arms, shoving him backwards. He lost his grip on Ense as he toppled over.

"My boys…" Verne whispered. Forgetting about the tank, Verne rose up and ran across open ground to where they fell. Throwing away his laspistol and grenade, Verne wailed aloud. Tears poured down his face on seeing four bodies, still and lifeless. He was deaf to the second burst of gunfire, even when it punched bloody holes through his chest. Sinking to his knees, Verne's mouth fell slack. "My boys…" he murmured. Verne's head drooped and fell against his chest. Behind the five bodies, four of them lying face down, an unnamed Chaos tank went up in flames.

The noise inside bomb died down. Smoke and the smell of cordite hung in the air. The crew were silent. "Good shooting, Ozzi," Rinek said with a heavy heart. "Teren, we're going home."

Countless wrecks, burning brightly on the clear sunny morning accompanied Bomb on its long drive back to Imperial lines.


	28. Chapter 27

08:35/M41/02-40.998/Nemesis Tessera/Nemesis System/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

Earth filled my ears, got into my eyes and up my nostrils. I was packed in on all sides by my partly-collapsed hole and unable to move. Voices calling above me were muffled and seemed to come from a great distance away. Tilting my head upwards, I saw a pair of legs standing on the edge of my hole. They belonged to Sergeant Scherder. "Larn, get out of the hole," Scherder shook me by the shoulder. His voice was slurred and sounded off. I couldn't string together a coherent response on him asking whether I was hit or not.

"Larn!" Erkki dived down beside me and began to dig feverishly at the earth. "Y'alright?" Hands underneath my armpits pulled me out of the damp earth and backwards onto level ground.

"Not hit are you?" Scherder checked me over then dragged the mud-covered stubber from where it had been partially buried.

"M'alright," I coughed and spat out a mouthful of dirt mixed in with phlegm.

"Almost buried alive there, mate," Erkki face was awash with worry. He patted the muck from my flak vest and thumped me on the dome of my cover.

"I'd clean that weapon as soon as possible," Scherder said, referring to the stubber, before making off.

"Everyone else?" I asked, glancing over at the others. I tried to count the number of bobbing heads but lost it after five. "Staf alright over there?"

"Yeah, they left him alone, thought he was dead," Erkki nodded. "What d'you think about them tanks rolling over us, huh?"

"Wasn't thinking anything."

"Heh, I got hard," Erkki grinned. "So close to death yet I never felt so alive!"

"Yeah, we all got different reactions to it," I grunted, rolling over and pulling the stubber towards me by its carry handle. "Least ye didn't shit yer grollies."

"Ooh, dunno 'bout that," Erkki rubbed his backside gingerly.

"What – did you…?"

"Nah just got a sore bum that's all. Think my dearest brother's filled his pants full," he pointed over at Antti who was limping about in an awkward manner. Martti, nearby, wafted the air irritably and made a face.

" _Damn_ ," I tutted at the state of my weapon. There was quite likely dirt fouling the barrel as well as the feed tray and the firing mechanism. In this state it wasn't even close to combat operational. I'd be lucky to get off five rounds before it locked up. "Erkki, take this, give me my rifle. Have a belt too," I pawed off the stubber to a noticeably reluctant Erkki as well as one of the ammunition belts I had running around my vest. I'd only just noticed the huge gain in weight, something I hadn't before.

"Why—"

"Ye need experience on the thirty," I said quickly, checking the wire was tight around the loosely held-together receiver. "Plus ye can learn how to clean it too, c'mon, Private."

We traded gear then looked over at Sergeant Scherder who, crouched in the centre of our thin line, signalled to us to move away from the road and in the direction of some high ground to the south-west.

"We moving out then?"

"Yeah," I whispered. "No noise from now. Keep your spacing and be ready to deploy."

The noise of battle somewhere to our front kept us all on edge as we hastened from the road and into wilderness. From the heavy track marks and footprints running through the mud it seemed an entire army had rolled over our heads in the space of a quarter of an hour. "Got the Emperor's protection we do," Erkki laughed.

"Shuddup, Erkki," I replied, keeping my voice low. "Spread out further," I waved my arm across at him to widen the gap between us.

Random patches of dead ground, raped by artillery, had been set alight. The smoke trails were entire kilometres wide and rose high into the pink sky, blotting out the weak sunlight. Smaller fires raged across the landscape, blowing hot ash and smoke in our faces. Every once in a while we came across the bodies of Nerians who'd tried to run instead of dig in. It was a sobering sight, seeing them all lying face down in the mud, no longer recognisable as human beings, just bodies with no identity. Word was passed around to leave the dead alone for practical reasons as the enemy might have booby-trapped them. Not one rifle or even a single round of ammo had been left. It had all been looted by the Chaos militia. Clothing too had been snatched. Boots, scarves, gloves, windproofs and flak jackets, many were absent from corpses indicating they now had new owners.

As the ground rose up from the flat, shell-marked waste, Scherder called a halt. We had been marching south-west all morning in the direction of the high ground. The near-constant sounds of battle, away to the west, had slowly grown more distant as the frontline moved further away from us. With each hour passing, the prospect of us breaking through to friendly lines grew slimmer. We all knew this.

No one talked as we huddled together on the blasted slopes of an escarpment overlooking the flattened plain. Each of us had withdrawn into his respective shell, brooding over the uncertain future that lay ahead. The longer-serving veterans kept cool, unemotional stares. The younger, less-experienced men were nervous and fidgety.

"Why'd we get left behind?" Eventually Erkki voiced the question that was at the forefront of everyone's mind.

"'Cause we're here, lad," Antic replied. "We're just numbers on a list, waiting to be erased. When our turn comes, it comes. There's no hiding from it."

I was within earshot of the whispered conversation. On overhearing Antic's blunt reply, I wondered about Kaukasios and whether or not he might've had a hand on our abandonment. Was he willing to sacrifice a few platoons' worth of men simply to eliminate his enemies in the battalion, namely Scherder and I? Was Kaukasios really that ruthless or was it my overactive imagination? In all probability, I wouldn't put it past the man. He was influential and well-connected both within the Guard's ranks and in civilian life. To him we were just a few more rivals to quickly and ruthlessly dispose of much akin to the way a politician would make moves against his opponent. There might have been something personal in it however. Scherder's dislike of officers was reflected in Kaukasios' enmity towards the lower classes and anyone not of his social standing. Both polar opposites loathed one another with equal measure. I imagined Kaukasios smirking in triumph on realising the pieces were exactly in the right place, allowing him to covertly bump off Scherder. _I am equally to blame, am I not?_ I thought miserably, scratching the back of my neck. The business between Kaukasios and I concerning Grendel and Kora with my mentioning of the latter touching a nerve rather too harshly I suspected. It did not help at all because of my utter lack of explanation about her. Thinking back over it now it must've seemed to him that we had been having an affair behind his back. Of course the utter lack of truth to that meant nothing to him. He had been insulted by the common soldiery and, worse, his massive ego had taken a nasty bruising. _Then there's the sentence and execution,_ I recalled the summary field execution Kaukasios had thrown at me. Closing my eyes I rested my head in my hand and thought about my own future. Supposing I did make it back to friendly territory, I would still be facing charges and later punishment for my insubordination. Rather than receive a warm welcome from the rest of the battalion I'd be sent straight to the glasshouse, likely for desertion as Kaukasios would no doubt word it when we turned up alive and angry in front of him, looking for an explanation. _Lose-lose_. Either die in battle or die in shame.

I tried to keep those faraway thoughts out of my head and keep a clear focus on what was happening in the now. As Antic said, we were here, and if our number came up there was nought we could do but accept its finality.

Pulling off my thin gloves, I dragged the back of my hand underneath my chin, feeling the short blond stubble that was slowly growing. I felt strangely hot. I was roasting in fact. Grimacing in discomfort, I unwound the thin piece of camouflaged netting from around my neck and felt the freezing air tickle the sore skin from where the tightly-wound scarf had chafed. Loosening the snaps of my flak jacket, I pulled the zip down lower to let some of the heat out. I was boiling, impossible in the cold. It was then I felt a tiny twinge of pain in my chest. Slowly undoing the buttons of my combat jacket, I pulled down the edge of the olive grey vest underneath and looked down at my pale chest.

A tiny red hole, the size of the tip of my middle finger stared up at me from just below my sternum. Around it were a few small droplets of blood and miniscule scraps of flesh. It was no pulsing wound, nor was it oozing out gently. It was just a little red hole. It didn't even hurt much.

Prying into my tiny medical pouch, I took out my only bandage and gently dabbed at the area around the wound. On contact with it I felt a sharp stab of pain inside my chest, nearly making me cry out. A quick balled fist in my mouth quelled any noises I would've made and any attention from others sitting closeby.

 _It's alright, it's alright, it's alright, it's just a flesh wound, calm, slow and steady breaths_ _like you were taught._ I attempted to recall the litany of purification to ward away possible infection, found somewhere in my issued primer. But like with everything I once owned, it had been lost. Besides, thinking about it now, what good would a simple prayer do?

Removing my canteen from its cover, I chugged down a gulpful of water then replaced it. I almost made to call for a medic then remembered where we were. Taking one last look at the little red hole, I did up my jacket and put my scarf back on. _If you slow them down you'll be left behind_ , a faint, mocking voice said.

Picking up my rifle I made my way up the slope to a flatter patch of ground where Staf had been laid. Antti and Martti were sitting around him. "'How is he?"

Antti glanced down at Staf's bandaged face, "unconscious, still."

"He been in and out?" Kneeling next to Staf, I reached down to his neck and felt for a pulse. A faint thud, weak but present, lifted my spirits somewhat.

"Nah, just unconscious," Martti said, rocking back and forth with his knees drawn up to his chin. "How'd he get hit?"

"Didn't see, had me back turned. I think he got a grenade round to his face, forced his teeth up into the roof of his mouth, some of 'em at least."

"Throne, s'gotta hurt like bloody fire," Antti's eyes moistened looking down at Staf's pale, bloody face. "It's too bad."

"Better if he's unconscious," Martti muttered.

"Yeah," I nodded in agreement. Once Staf woke up, with the shock worn off and a lack of morphine he'd be moaning and crying aloud. I didn't think I could stand to hear that, my friend in such terrible pain with absolutely nothing I could do to help him. All we could do was give him another shot, but it would have to be the last he'd receive. Morphine, if administered in too large doses was lethal. Two shots was the very limit we could give him. Any more and his heart rate would lower too much and he'd never wake up. "We're here for ye, mate. Gonna get ye home to…" I stopped then. I was about to say we'd get him home to his girlfriend but suddenly remembered the letter and the news it contained. " _Sorry, Staf_ ," I whispered, holding his hand. The heartbreak he must've felt and now this. Again I felt a terrible guilt about how I thought I'd had it bad. After everything that had happened to me, I still had my body and mind whole and a family waiting for me. Staf, grievously wounded, had nothing left to go back to.

"We was thinking about doing something for him, y'know, when this over and we rotate back to a civvy world. Erkki and me'll look after him," Antti sniffed and wiped his nose. "S'least we can do for a mate."

"Won't just be you, I'll be along too. Not gonna leave any o' ye behind, s'not fair," I leant over Staf and adjusted the thin bedroll that had been rolled into a makeshift pillow. "Gonna get ye home, pal."

"If we get through of course," Martti added.

"We'll get through," I stared long and hard at Martti. "We will get through – all of us."

The rest of the morning was spent gaining the high ground. Sergeant Scherder ordered us to dig in on the eastern slope just before the rocky summit. Covered by bedrolls and waterproof capes, our holes were completely invisible and blended in with the harsh grey mud and frost-covered rock. At noon, or sometime thereabouts, we ate a frugal lunch of unheated compo washed down with water from our canteens. Arse-water we called it as the position our canteen's occupied on our equipment belts meant they were in near-constant contact with our Guard-issue backsides, hence the nickname. Since our holes weren't deep enough to conceal a stove we had to go without a brew. The telltale steam rising from the hillside would have been a dead giveaway to any Chaos militia, many of whom, in transit to the frontline, were bound to be nearby.

The afternoon wore on. The patchy sunlight began to grow weaker as it sunk lower in the sky. Only the distant crump of artillery to the west could be heard now. The sounds of small arms fire had long since faded. Our position looking eastwards was magnificent as it commanded an unobstructed view of our former positions. Ugly, jagged black scars hacked into the land – our trenches – could be seen in the far distance. Pouring over them were heavy concentrations of troops, columns of armour, long trains of artillery and dedicated support units.

"Larn," Scherder beckoned me over to where he lay on the outside of his hole away from the others.

"Sarn't," I bellied across to him and accepted the pair of field glasses he handed me.

"What do you see?"

"Uhh…" I waited for the lenses bring the image into focus. "Lots o' Chaos troops."

"Estimate their strength," Scherder produced a notepad and a blunt pencil. "In your own time, let this be a lesson in observation."

"I can see large bodies of troops, marching on both sides o' the road. They're in formation, not like the rabble that attacked us. There's tanks too, some of our own and other ones I don't recognise."

"Their category-A troops, militia to you or I. The militia are well-trained, fanatical and unpredictable. It was nothing but a frenzied mob of cultists, category-C troops, which attacked us before. Explains how we got off so lightly. The Chaos brass don't like to expend their best troops in the opening stage of their offensives. Now that they have an opening…" Scherder said, all the while writing down his observations, "…they'll use their shock units, backed up by the armour, to broaden their front, form an unbreakable thrust and punch it deep into our rear before we have a chance to coordinate an organised defence. If they succeed they'll cut off thousands of units from support, surround and annihilate them piecemeal. If our beloved generals can be bothered to get up from their armchairs and look at a map our forces may be able to stall them. It is still only a matter of time before the planet falls."

"S'a lot o' ifs, Sarn't," I said.

"I've seen it happen many a time. If there's one thing the Guard's good at it's holding out against a surrounding force."

"Yeah," I remembered the Vardans, entrenched around the city of Broucheroc, surrounded by a much larger Ork horde. I wondered whether they still held, or if they'd finally been overrun after so long. "Stall them?"

"Once a Chaos offensive is underway there's no stopping it. Their manpower is inexhaustible. The best we can do is conduct an orderly, fighting retreat and await the arrival of the Marines; bless their souls," Scherder added somewhat bitterly.

"Never seen a Marine before."

"Look now," Scherder pointed downwards then looked across at me.

"Uh..." I swept the glasses along the lines of tanks and infantry, looking for anything unusual. I stopped on a group of, unmistakably, Marines, "Big armoured bastards, two sections of ten, maybe more in that track next to 'em."

"Can you identify their colours?"

"Blue, mostly blue armour with yellow trim… and weird head crests."

"Don't be fooled into thinking they are Ultramarines because of their colour. Those men, if you can still call them men, are of the Thousand Sons."

"Dunno what Ultramarines or Thousands Sons are," I shrugged. "Never 'eard of 'em. Why would they be called Thousand Sons – whose sons are they?"

Scherder held up a hand to shut me up and waited for silence before continuing, "Corporal, those are your basic operational model Marines. I already explained everything important to you so you know how lethal they can be."

"Yeah."

"Now Marines will never commit themselves unless they're really gunning for something, or the situation's become desperate. They're selfish and arrogant but they've earned the right to be like that. The individual Marine is millennia old and has the strength of ten men, the firepower of an infantry battalion and the armour of a track. But what makes him so dangerous is his ability to adapt to the ever-changing situation on the battlefield in a heartbeat. Hard experience and a raw cunning neither of us could hope to possess will win him the fight over any arms and armour he may have in his possession."

I listened solemnly and waited for a chance to speak. "'Ave you ever…?" I was asking whether or not Scherder had ever faced a Marine in combat before. I wanted to know what it was like.

Scherder hesitated for a moment, his eyes unfocused and gazing elsewhere before looking me in the eye and saying, "I was fifteen years old. It was my first time out so everything was new. My father was in a company deployed adjacent to mine. We were attacked by Marines. One single company of Marines pushed back our reinforced battalion a seven firefight. My father's company chose to stay and hold them back, only their officer, a captain, instead fled with his entourage, leaving half a dozen platoon's worth of men leaderless and looking for direction. Had my father's company commander not lost his nerve and stayed to fight my father would be alive today. My father was going to be allowed to retire in three weeks' time. He'd completed five tours of duty which granted him a plot of land on a conquered planet where he would be able to return to his family and live in peace…" Scherder's eyes glazed over. His mind was far away as he recounted events long past in a hollow, dead-sounding voice. "But on that day the Imperial Guard failed him. I was told he killed three Marines in hand to hand combat before a fourth cleaved him in two with his sword. But I knew it wasn't true. It wasn't the Marines that killed him, it was that officer, the one who'd run and condemned so many men to death just to save his worthless hide. I did not know his name or where he came from until seven years ago when I discovered his whereabouts. I found the bastard living fat and rich on a plush estate on some peaceful world, eking out a living on the glory he had not earned, rather swiped off dead men, real soldiers whose names and stories would never be remembered. So that night I went in there, I found him in bed with his wife, a beautiful thing, undeserving of such a despicable, self-serving coward. He didn't know who I was, just begged for mercy for him and his family, offering me anything he had. But I only wanted him."

Scherder's voice had gone soft and quiet, concealing a brimming mix of rage and anguish. I swallowed and tried to stop myself shivering, less from the cold but from unease.

"I stuck my gun in his face and said, _you did this, you did this…_ yet he did not know. He had no idea what I meant. _You killed my father, you_ _arrogant, unblooded, aristocratic bastard._ He remembered then, started apologising over and over again. The wife was crying beside him, screaming loud enough to wake the children who were drawn to the noise. I started with them. I killed the three children, two girls, one boy. Then I killed the wife, wanted to watch him suffer the agony of losing family. Then I shot him, the captain I hadn't stopped thinking about for twenty-seven years. I made damn-sure he was dead. Then I burnt the house down. It was filled with battlefield souvenirs, flags, trinkets, captures, none of which he had earned, none of which he'd spilt a single drop of blood for. I put everything to the torch then I stood back and watched, watched for so long until there was nothing but ashes and smoke. Even afterwards I walked amongst the ruins, searching for anything that was untouched by the fire. But there was nothing left nothing for anyone to remember him by. I had obliterated him, his family and his legacy. He was an unperson, forgotten just like my father and those young men and boys he abandoned. Like with them, his story would never ever be told; I made _damn-sure_ of that."

Scherder bowed his head slightly, hiding his eyes underneath the peak of his field cap. The fire had gone out of them. He was as ice-cold as he had been before. Clearing his throat, he said, nodding behind him, "been with those fine gentlemen back there for five and a half years, they don't know a thing about it. It'll stay that way."

"Yes, Sarn't," I nodded mutely. "Kaukasios knew 'bout this, didn't he?"

Scherder looked across at me, "whether he did or didn't, it does not matter. We're here and we've have a duty above all else to make it back to our lines."

"Yes, Sarn't."

"Back to your hole now, Corporal."

"Sarn't," I glanced down at the paper in Scherder's hand as I wriggled away. It had been completely scrunched up in his fist and the writing on it was now illegible.

That night the western horizon was illuminated by a rolling firestorm punctuated by bright flashes of light. The retreating Imperials were catching hell from Chaos air power. Every five minutes planes or Ornithopters would release payloads of bombs or go in for a gunrun with rocket pods and tracers blazing away. I thought it would stop after an hour or two but it went on throughout the entire night. The vibration from the strafing and near-constant bombing was so intense it made the ground tremble where we were, despite being many kilometres away. Then our gaze turned skyward to the tiny streaks of light made by ships, small and large, descending from space. They were not Imperial ships but Chaos, entirely Chaos.

Lying flat on my back with an unlit cigarette clamped between my teeth, I watched the few trails grow from the dozens to the hundreds. What remained of our air defence, not having scarpered with the Navy, flew upwards to lock horns with them. Their total: five. Five Thunderbolts, alone and unsupported, attacked the enemy landing force. The five fought for two and a half minutes, being picked off one by one in an utterly hopeless fight until each had been blown out of existence. Afterwards the enemy carried on as if nothing had happened.

"Bit bloody stupid doing something like that," Antti remarked tactlessly from the next hole over.

"Show some respect," I replied, "and shut up."

"What was the point, uh?" Erkki asked, returning to the dirty stubber sitting between his knees. He had a toothbrush, someone else's in all probability, and was cleaning the action with gun oil.

"They did their bit for the Emperor," Martti, in with Antti, said.

"Fat lot of good it did. Had to do something though, what else could they do?"

"Shut up all o' ye," I hissed, worried about the sound of their voices carrying through the night, which, as it appeared to them, wasn't too great a concern. I shouldn't have needed to remind them we were deep in enemy territory with no hope of relief.

"Do me would you?" Erkki had his own smoke in his hand and held it near me.

"No lights at night, not gonna tell ye again," I grunted, rolling over to face away from him. I felt the heat start to grip me again. Instead of warming me it made me uncomfortable and itchy, most of all on my chest where the little hole was making its presence known.

"Has someone had my toothbrush?" Antti called softly. "Anyone?" Erkki, working the bristles into the ammunition tray's crevices, laughed silently.

"Quiet now, lads," I murmured.

"Antti keeps poking me with his rifle," Martti whispered to me.

"Mmm, that's not my rifle, Martti." The grin on Antti's face was audible. In the holes around us men began to snort in amusement.

* * *

 _The Arabulucu…_

The strange friction that caused bodies to become attached to the outer hull of the battleship aroused Keladi's curiosity. It was not in a positive manner but rather an oddly morbid, almost sexual manner. She found the dozens of corpses, floating in space, now glued to the Arabulucu's hull, weirdly fascinating. The grey, lifeless faces that passed by the troopship's launch tube had her staring intensely at them until they floated out of sight. The feeling was alien and altogether unfamiliar to her. "I do not understand why my gaze is drawn to them; why is this?"

Izuru conversed quietly with Anon Brightfire in the round portal leading down to the troop bay. At Keladi's question she touched Anon on the shoulder and took her leave.

"What do you think of when you see a dead body?" Izuru came back into the cockpit and stood by Keladi's shoulder.

"Revulsion, disgust," Keladi replied quickly. "I would mourn them."

"And if that number is multiplied one hundred-fold."

"I would not change my feeling towards it. I would mourn them."

Izuru folded her arms and stared down at the shorter woman. "No, that is not the correct answer."

"Well what should I feel, elation, amusement? I do not understand…"

"The answer is you feel nothing, absolutely nothing. After seeing a single body you are torn up inside, sick, in distress, everything a perfectly normal being should feel. But after seeing your hundredth body, you feel nothing. You do not care for the dead or the dying. You become detached, unemotional and you think of yourself as already dead. Only then, after accepting your fate, will you survive."

Keladi's hand wrung the mane of her helmet, scrunching up the already untidy strands even further. "Am I going to die?" she said in a quiet, timid voice.

"If you believe it yes, though I do not doubt your courage, young one."

"My courage?" Keladi looked up at Izuru, dismayed and confused. "It has yet to be put to the test."

"Know that you are not bound to me by law. At any point you could've stepped out of this and departed – you can still leave if you so wish. You need only look to the open hatch," Izuru said gently.

"I…" Keladi hung her head, shamefaced. "I do – a part of me does – but another side yearns for a life of adventure and drama. For too long I have remained content on Ulthwé, training, preparing, and waiting for a day like today to come. I always knew it would and when it did I could not put it off," she swallowed. "Perhaps this is today, the day I am to leave my home."

"It is a daunting endeavour, Keladi Lethidia, one that requires no small amount of courage," Izuru said, planting a hand on Keladi's shoulder plate. "All you need do is take the first step, then the rest is easy."

Anon Brightfire appeared at her shoulder and whispered something. "My thanks, Autarch," Izuru said brusquely. "The fleet has broken through. We make for Nemesis Tessera with all haste," she announced. "It is time to make our date with the humans."

With the frailest whisper, the troopship was shot out of the launch tube into the great blackness of space. The instant it hit vacuum all external sound was cut out. From outside the Arabulucu the destruction of hundreds of Chaos and Eldar vessels stretched far below, above and around the insect-like troopships and escorting fighters.

Keladi felt like turning away and curling up into a ball in a corner as she saw the endless wreckage, gently, lazily spinning and knocking into one another. Her heart skipped a beat on hearing scores of bodies collide with the ship's hull, becoming anchored there as with they had with the Arabulucu.

"There," the pilot pointed away through the spaceship graveyard at the specks of the Chaos battlegroup escorting the Blackstone and the flagship past Nemtess. "Our enemy flees the system, t'was nought but a holding action to allow the slower beasts to escape our wrath."

"Look to your front, pilot," Anon leant over the elegantly-shaped console and blew up an image of Nemtess's orbit. "They have installed a blockade around Nemesis Tessera. The Imperial Navy, in their absence, has granted the enemy a prime position to cut the planet off from all relief."

"A gift," Izuru said. "The Imperials would fire on us the instant we strayed within their range. Better to make planetfall discreetly before we announce ourselves. I shall then deliver the message from the Chief Farseer to the Imperial Guard commander personally."

"Ambassador, our escort's in position," the pilot said.

"Thank you, pilot, proceed."

"Is there—"

"—no more questions now please, Keladi," Izuru cut her off sharply. "We may take some fire on ingress. Return to the troop bay and find your seat."

"Yes, Izuru," Keladi bowed her head and left the cockpit.

"A friend of yours?" Anon glanced at the space the banshee had vacated.

"No friend of mine," Izuru replied bluntly, settling on a chair behind the pilot.

"A cohort then," Anon took the seat across from her and leant back, permitting the material to mould to his form.

"I hold little hope for her. She is too young, too naïve."

"And those words of encouragement were…?"

"Just words," Izuru shook her head and glanced out at the grey-white planet growing larger and larger. "If we are forced into an engagement on the surface her chances of surviving are low. Let us leave it at that."

"The message you carry…"

"Chief Farseer Eldrad Ulthran trusted me with its contents. It is for him and for the human leadership alone."

"Of course," Anon cast his gaze at the two Hellebore frigates and accompanying Nightshade fighters that were readying to assault the Chaos blockade. "Of course."

"I do not know you or your warrior's capabilities. But I will trust you will act accordingly with restraint and without zeal or aggression. We go to parley with the humans. They are not our enemy today. Though there may come a time when the ceasefire is lifted and hostilities resume, it will not be today or in the near-future. I shall make that absolutely clear to you right now."

"I understand completely, Ambassador."

"If one of them so much as makes a snide remark to the humans—"

"—they will not, would never," Anon said and raised a quick hand in apology. "Forgive me, I interrupted you there. It shall not happen again, Ambassador."

"You do not offend," Izuru replied graciously. "I beg you know me as Izuru."

"Izuru then," Anon smiled warmly. Izuru did not return the gesture. Both were then drawn to the distant flashes of light from pulsars as the frigates and fighters initiated their attack on the thin but widespread line of Chaos vessels. "I wish we could've met under more pleasant circumstances."

"Likewise, Autarch," Izuru replied, with little emotion.

Anon glanced at the hood that covered Izuru's face leaving it mostly in shadow and asked the question that had been on his mind ever since he had first met her, "if you permit me, I am curious as to your choice of attire, such strange garb is not commonplace on Ulthwé. It is one of a ranger."

"What you see here is indeed ranger, formerly of the Craftworld Alaitoc."

"Aah, there it is! I was certain I recognised the markings on your cheeks."

"And now you wish to know why?"

"Curiosity is not a sin."

Izuru took a breath and turned sideways to face Anon. "My loyalty, first and foremost, is to Craftworld Alaitoc. It is not where I was born or where I currently reside. My birthplace is Lyanden, where my late father was sired. I was forced to flee with him at a very young age after the Devourers assaulted the Craftworld. We sought asylum on Alaitoc. The high council knew of my father and the connection he had with Ilic Nightspear, therefore we were admitted, though somewhat reluctantly I remember him telling me. Alaitoc harbours great suspicion of outsiders."

"If your loyalty is to Alaitoc then what brought you here?"

"Banishment. My children and I were cast out and left to wander," Izuru's eyes were fixed on the deck, unwilling to focus. "We ended up on Ulthwé after a long while travelling."

Anon sensed something Izuru wasn't telling him but did not press any further. "Lyanden, Alaitoc and now Ulthwé, you are well-travelled, Izuru Numerial. Most beings only see one Craftworld in their lifetime. Here I am face to face with a multi-culturist."

"I will say this – the difference between Alaitoc and Ulthwé culture is staggering. I found it difficult to adjust to Ulthwé's society after Alaitoc's strictness."

"They are very different?"

"More than you can imagine—" a violent judder shook the craft, breaking off the conversation.

"Apologies," the pilot called. "We just had two near-misses from Onicks missiles. We are attracting heavy fire from a pair of cruisers. Their flanks are positioned in such a way that they can bring all of their batteries to bear."

"Were the missiles aimed specifically at us?" Izuru asked.

"Both were for the frigates. There are so many signals in such a small area the onboard directors become confused and target anything."

"Avoid the cruisers, try and sneak by their blind spots."

"Izuru, perhaps you should let the pilot do his job," Anon said gently. Izuru was halfway out of her chair before realising.

"You're right," she whispered, sitting back down. _Foolish to think I_ _could tell the pilot how to do his job._

The pilot cast a glance over his shoulder, fully aware, "we'll do what we have to do to get you and your warriors on the ground, Ambassador."

"Then take us down," Izuru said. "Our lives are in your hands."


	29. Chapter 28

07:05/M41/02-40.999/Nemesis Tessera/Nemesis System/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

"That's it, we've waited long enough," Otto Rinek murmured into the intercom. "Teren, Golli, Ozzi, leave your cocks and grab your socks."

The dim interior of Bomb, lit only by a few weak bulbs that cast a ghostly red glow throughout the fighting compartment, began to awaken. The silence, near-total, was ended when a clatter of boots on the cartridge-strewn metal floor mercilessly cut through it.

" _Aah, ooh_ ," Teren Runz stretched his cramped muscles. Having slept in his seat did his arms and legs no favours. He was stiff as a board.

"Yep, I feel you," Gol Gollius muttered, rolling his shoulders to restore circulation to his arms.

"Did I leave the oven on last night 'cause something in here really stinks," Fil Ozymandias eased his numb buttocks off the gunner's perch and hoisted himself upright. "Eurgh, dreadful," he groaned, fanning the air around him.

"Rinek," Teren bent over himself and coughed, clearing his throat before continuing. "Anything happen last night? Thought you were s'posed to wake me after four hours."

"Oi, Teren, pass the thunderbox," Ozzi said. "I'm dying for a piss."

Rinek grunted in acknowledgement, "figured you all needed to sleep so I let you."

"Ozzi," Teren passed an empty ammunition can up to Ozzi. "You not slept?"

"Nah I slept, well leastways as good as you can in here," Ozzi replied, positioning the rectangular metal box between his legs and unzipping his tank overalls.

"No, no, Rinek – meant Rinek, Ozzi. If our commander's working his body overtime then he's not gonna be as good as he is normally, yeah?"

"You feeling alright this morning, Corp?" Ozzi glanced over his shoulder at Rinek whilst simultaneously urinating into the vacant can.

"Same as always," Rinek replied nonchalantly. Ozzi did notice the circles under his eyes were darker, not just from where his tank goggles had left marks.

The smell of urine filled the compartment, as did the splash of liquid on dirty metal. "You'd better sling your piss out soon, Ozzi. You know how dull I become when you leave it unmarked and I pick it up thinking it's ball and tracer," Teren said loudly above the noise.

"As we're all fully aware of sweet Teren's aversion to bodily fluids – and how dull he becomes when the two collide–"

"—I don't like it 'cause it's not funny. We keep it funny in here, always. It's just pissing in a box and leaving it lying around for someone else to spill… well that's just not humorous. It's like violence. If there's one thing I can't stand it's violence—"

"—Teren, Ozzi, friends. We're all friends in here," Rinek said firmly. "Now, driver, start us up."

"She's stone cold, Otto," Teren said, "might need to get out and push."

"Jus' do what you gotta do." Rinek stood up in the commander's cupola and peered through his periscope.

The previous night, under cover of the bombardment from Chaos air and artillery, Bomb had snuck into a huge graveyard of burning vehicles near a highway and switched off. By the early morning the tanks and tracks, both on and off the four-lane carriageway, were smouldering gently, their fuel and ammunition having already touched off. They were now little more than blackened boxes of metal, turretless and trackless hulls; unrecognisable. Bodies, blackened, charred corpses of vehicle crews either incinerated inside their mounts, killed while trying to bail out, or cut down in the open lay draped over hulls, turrets or were otherwise strewn across the frozen ground in piles or by themselves. Rinek never turned a hair. What he felt – rather smelt — did. It was the pungent, humid, sickly sweet smell of charred flesh coupled with the corpses swelling up in decay outside. Even inside the sealed Bomb, the stench found a way to get up his nostrils and make him gag. That was the worst thing – the smell. Nothing else smelt like it.

Rinek glanced down as Teren thumbed the ignition. The pitiful, lethargic noise the engine made as it tried to pull itself together was painful to his ears.

"Nah, Bomb's gonna need a workshop, Corp," Teren let go of the ignition. "She don't sound too well."

"Ah, what else she need, Teren?" Rinek asked.

"Uh, new engine, new suspension…"

"Check your instruments."

"Wait, what?" Teren wiped the fog from his panel above the control sticks and stared at the fuel gauge. "We only filled her up last night!" he cried in disbelief.

"Leaky fuel line?" Golli looked up at Rinek. "Again?"

"Certainly seems so," Rinek said. "Golli, check the fuel line. Teren, Ozzi, see how many full cans we got left outside."

"'Ey," Ozzi touched Rinek on the arm as he clambered up to the commander's hatch. "We got this, alright. Why don't you get some shut-eye?"

"You'll need cover…"

"Nah, we'll be alright. Get your head down, Corp," Ozzi grinned.

"Alright, lads," Rinek nodded. He trusted his crew enough that they'd be alright on their own without him watching over them. "Here, take 'em," he passed two of the tank's Stronica's up through the hatch.

"Cheers," Ozzi slung one of the compact weapons on his shoulder and handed the other to Teren.

"Bit nippy out here," Teren did up the zip of his tank jacket and turned his collar up. The air was icy cold.

"Yeah," Ozzi whispered. "Oi, Golli, how you doing down there?" he called across to Golli who was standing waist-deep in the engine compartment behind the turret.

"Not too bad down here."

"Ah made a little nest have ya?" Teren crouched on one side of the open hatches whilst Ozzi perched opposite him. "S'where he switches off and hibernates for the winter."

"Never!" Golli threw a filthy rag, damp with grease and oil, up at Teren. "I'm never off, always on."

"So we got a leaky fuel line then?" Ozzi said keen to get back to the matter at hand.

"That's right," Golli said softly. "Come down here, I'll take you round the engine a couple o' times."

"Ha-ha," Teren chortled and threw the rag across to Ozzi who threw it back at Golli.

"Can you fix it?" Ozzi asked, unperturbed.

"Yeah why not," Golli grunted, setting to work.

"How long?"

"Five, ten minutes. Fifteen if I'm feeling unmotivated."

"Gol, please fix the fuel line, we need it most ricky-tick, else we can't give Bomb a drink."

"Alright, alright, I'm on it."

"Oi, Ozzi," Teren tapped a fuel can he'd unlatched from the stowage with his knuckle.

"What, empty?"

"Look," he turned the can around and indicated a wide hole near the base.

"Fine, get another, we got five more spare."

"Nah, they've all been wasted, look," Teren went along the fuel cans lashed to the rear of Bomb along with the boxes of compo and ammunition and tapped each one methodically. "Hollow, hollow, hollow," he shrugged then sniffed. "This stuff's been leaking out all night, we never noticed it."

"The decomp masked it," Ozzi said.

"Shit, Teren, we left a trail. They gonna find us now."

"You done yet, Golli?"

"I dunno, I'm suddenly feeling a great deal less motivated than I was before."

"Some mechanic you are," Ozzi said coldly, moving back across the hull to the turret. To his surprise, Rinek was standing up in his hatch and had his glasses trained skywards. "All our fuel cans got holes in 'em and have emptied. Golli's fixing the fuel line but we ain't gonna have any fuel to run through it like this."

"Fine, you and Teren head out those wrecks, see if you can swipe some juice. I'll cover you best I can from here," Rinek replied.

"What's up there, what you looking at?"

"We got incoming…"

"Pfft, just some more Perfs late to the party," Ozzi snorted derisively. "Turning up like buggery last night. S'all we need, more Chaos twats."

"No, no, this one's different. It's not Chaos."

"How can you tell, it's dark still."

"Listen. That sound like ours or theirs?"

"S'not ours, can't be," Ozzi jammed a finger in his ear and wiggled it. A faraway noise, different from the distant blasting of artillery, could be heard. It came from the sky. "Don't sound like theirs either."

"No," Rinek replied grimly.

"That's what worries you?"

"Be quick. I'll cover you."

"Right, Corp," Ozzi beckoned Teren over. "We're gonna go out there and find some fuel, y'alright with that?"

"Seems good," Teren shrugged.

"In case you run into trouble," Rinek hauled an ammunition bag out of the turret and passed it to Ozzi.

"Dunno thought I'd try and talk my way out if things go south," Ozzi smirked.

"Go on, get outta here you two," Rinek waved them away. "You want to go home? Then find us juice."

As Teren and Ozzi crept away through the wrecks, Rinek hopped out onto the rear deck and checked the pintle-mounted .50 calibre stubber. It annoyed him that in order to operate it he needed to stand, fully exposed from the ankles up, behind the turret. Certainly a questionable design by the AdMech, Rinek thought, wiggling the mount retaining pin until it came free, allowing him to elevate and lower the weapon.

"They heading off?" Golli said.

"Yeah," Rinek looked down at the loader. "Yeah, they're gone."

 _Come back safe_.

* * *

Dawn was in its infancy when the troopship slowed its velocity and put down in a wide trough at the bottom of a rocky valley. Half a dozen armed warriors clad in black leapt down from the ramp as it was still descending and crouched, forming a perimeter. Behind them Izuru, Anon and Keladi, the latter trailing cautiously behind, appeared.

"What do your senses detect?" Anon muttered to a Black Guardian, kneeling beside him.

"No nearby contacts. We do not seem to have been detected, Autarch."

"Well?" Izuru whispered.

"Clear," Anon replied.

"Thank you, Autarch."

"Is there a—" Keladi began in a loud voice before being cut off harshly by Izuru.

"—you forget yourself, child!" she hissed. "Put your helmet on and remain silent!"

"Apologies," Keladi hung her head in shame. Without another word she pressed her banshee mask down onto her head.

"If I may, Ambassador, I would suggest we let the Guardians secure the landing site first before getting started."

"That would be wise, Autarch," Izuru bowed her head respectfully and let the rest of the Black Guardians disembark. "Keladi, let them pass."

"The nearest human settlement – the largest on this world – is forty klicks to the west. Do you wish to go there on foot or by air?" Anon asked Izuru as they stepped to one side to allow the Guardians to spread out.

Izuru shook her head, "the humans would shoot us out of the sky the moment we came within auspex range. It would be preferable for only Chaos to be shooting at us, not the humans too."

"Of course," Anon agreed. "My warriors can run all the way if needed – and fight too."

"Thank you but that will not be necessary. We must avoid all engagement with the enemy if possible and…" Izuru gaze swept round the barren slopes of the valley. Keladi was hovering awkwardly on the troopship's ramp, unsure of where she should be. "...Locate the nearest Imperial outpost."

"A simple transmission might suffice. It would warn them of our arrival," Anon suggested.

"What would we send it to? We have no communications with the humans. Their equipment is far less advanced than ours."

"It rather narrows our options, doesn't it?" Anon glanced at Izuru, trying to catch her eye.

"Either way we walk," Izuru said without looking at the Autarch. Her attention was on a crude map she traced in the dirt with her finger. "The human settlement, forty klicks to the west here, is sitting on a peninsular looking out across an inland sea. It is almost a straight run from here to there. Inbetween are several concrete highways, some of them elevated, running north and south. Only one runs east to west and that goes straight into the centre of the settlement so it will need to be avoided at all costs."

"If you'll allow me, Ambassador," Anon drew further lines in the dirt. "There are also canals. They run parallel to the roads as well as a railway that passes through the settlement which then cuts away to the south along the coastline."

"The south will be more heavily defended," Izuru said slowly.

"The humans are not fools," Anon added.

"No, such creatures, though deformed, are clever, sometimes irritatingly so," she pondered, rubbing her numb chin. The air on Nemtess was disarmingly chill. She hadn't expected such a frigid climate. Behind her Keladi was sitting on the ramp, clutching her knees to her chin and shivering. _Foolish girl_ , Izuru was about to berate her for her choice or attire before realising, _how could she have known?_

"Coming in from the north might be wiser," Anon traced a route to the coast then brought it down to the city.

"Agreed but let us avoid the coastline. I suggest we strike west then once we are near enough we turn south. This might all be unnecessary though if we encounter the human forces first—"

"—assuming they do not fire on sight," Anon muttered.

"I trust you, Anon."

"Gratitude, Izuru," Anon smiled.

"I trust your judgement is what I mean," Izuru said flatly. Indicating the troopship behind her, she said, "I would see the ship sent back to the Arabulucu before the sun has arisen. There is nothing to camouflage it from the sky."

"Our sole means of transport…"

"Once business with the humans is over I will request another. The sooner our dealings our done the better. I do not wish to tarry amongst them any longer than I have to," Izuru said, slightly more coldly than she intended. Her head was starting to ache and it was making her prickly.

"I shall inform the pilot of the developments," Anon rose and, nodding politely at Keladi, strode back up the ramp inside the ship.

"Keladi."

"It's freezing out here," Keladi said. Her voice, otherwise recognisable, came out from her helmet's speakers mechanically augmented.

"Let Jain Zar's fire keep you warm," Izuru beckoned her over.

"Hmm, I do not think Jain Zar's warriors would be found in a place like this," Keladi shuffled down and squatted next to Izuru.

"It is a desolate place. One can only wonder what interest the humans have in such a world—"

"—one that is devoid of all natural beauty with only the hard crust left over."

"Have you ever walked through the Laughing Gardens on Ulthwé, Keladi? Seen their splendour with your own eyes. There is a particular tree unique because it grew from the last remaining seed that was carried from a maiden world. It is the gardens' sole natural growth."

"I have not ever had the pleasure," Keladi said quietly. "They say it is a place where lovers go. I would feel uncomfortable walking amongst the trees alone and seeing couples laughing and happy."

"On our return to Ulthwé there will be scores of young warriors, all vying for your hand. That is something to look forwards to. Take heart in that." The briefest approximation of a smile passed across Izuru's face before it was replaced with a blank stare.

"Yes, yes it is," Keladi looked down at her hands. "Are you—" Before she could finish the question, there was a loud explosion. A guardian was thrown several feet into the air before landing on his back, another nearby fell backwards, hit by an unknown force.

Keladi jumped in fright on hearing it and froze to the spot. Izuru was on her feet in an instant. "Minefield!" she snarled. "Find the Autarch."

"Yes, Izuru," Keladi said flatly. Gripped with shock she stared, fixated, at the fallen Guardians.

"Keladi, the Autarch!" Izuru hauled Keladi to her feet and thrust her up the ramp then bounded over to the wounded Guardians.

* * *

Teren knocked the half-full fuel can he was holding over as a bang, sounding from a nearby valley, rolled over the hilltops to his ears. It had been quiet so far in their area. The sharp report made him jump in alarm and accidently let go of the can he was taking fuel into from a mostly-intact wreck.

"Shit!" Ozzi, crouched nearby, whirled around to face where the noise had come from and raised his Stronica. "Oi pick it up, Teren! Don't just stand there!" Ozzi snapped at Teren who had briefly ceased functioning and was staring down at the olive grey can spilling greenish liquid across the ground.

"Bloody hell was that then?" Teren dived for the can and tilted it back upright, wincing as the foul-smelling fuel seeped through his driving gloves. Shoving the cap back on he screwed it up tight and used his free hand to bring his slung Stronica to bear.

"That's in the next valley," Ozzi pointed at the crest of a nearby ridge.

"What, fuckin' mortar do that? Arty? Tank?" Teren babbled fearfully. Away from Bomb and out in the open he was far from his comfort zone and scared.

"Dunno, let's go, let's get outta here!" Ozzi grabbed a full can sitting beside him and rose.

"Hope Rinek heard that," Teren gasped, running at a strange angle, his balance off-set by the big fuel container held in one hand and the Stronica in the other. Together they made off back through the maze of wrecks to where Bomb was hiding; fifty paces by their reckoning.

"I bloody well hope not, 'cause if he heard it…" Ozzi shot a glance over his shoulder worriedly. The two tankies left caution in the dirt behind them as they dashed back to Bomb, wishing to be back inside their protective shell. Neither man had any idea how many Chaos troops were nearby. Not since they'd slotted the Ragnarok tank crew the previous day had they seen any enemy despite his main advance sweeping right around them. The terror of battling the mobile bunker coupled with the lurking threat of the Chaos militia, ever-present on the crew's minds but always unseen, was wearing nerves down and stretching them fibre-thin; almost to breaking point.

Rinek's hand grasped the cold metal of the coaxial stubber's firing mechanism, his other hand resting on the turret traverse wheel. The rubberised eyepieces of the gunner's sight were pressing marks into his forehead so hard it was becoming sore. _Come on, lads, where are you?_

The distinctive crump of explosives had travelled across the waste to Bomb, startling Rinek and Golli. Ordering Golli to finish mending the fuel line as quickly as he could, Rinek had jumped back inside Bomb and manned Ozzi's perch. He dragged a round of HE up from the ammunition rack and loaded the cannon before assuming the gunner's position. It was between there and the commander's cupola he alternated, monitoring Bomb's surroundings through the vision blocks. Since the sharp explosion, he had seen nothing. Neither the crew nor the Perfs had shown up.

" _C'mon, come back, come back_ ," he whispered. If they were smart they would return with all haste. But he knew they were smart, smart and cautious when they needed to be. His greatest fear was his crew dying because of orders he gave, ones that rendered him utterly powerless to protect them. Now, alone in enemy territory and separate from each other, Rinek felt a genuine fear for their lives.

"Coming in!" someone cried.

"Corp, it's Ozzi and Teren!" Golli exclaimed, sticking his head into the turret. "Hold your fire!"

Rinek exhaled gratefully, a tremendous weight lifted from his mind. _There they are!_ He gave a sigh of relief as the two grimy crew hurried around the wrecks and back over to Bomb.

Boots sounded on the hull and Ozzi's head was silhouetted against the dawn sky. "You heard it to?" he asked anxiously.

"Yeah, get down here," Rinek ordered. "You get the juice?"

"Not as much as we wanted," Ozzi, out of breathe, said as he dropped into the turret and reclaimed his seat.

"How much?"

"Two cans, only one of 'em's full," Teren's voice came from the outside. "You get that line fixed, Golli?"

"I've been sitting around waiting for you two to hoof it back," Golli replied. "Done it hours ago."

"What, yes or no then?"

"Yea," Golli chuckled. "I say yea."

"Golli, can you hear me fine?" Rinek called from his cupola.

"Corp?"

"Take…" Rinek tugged the Stronica from Ozzi's shoulder and passed it out of the hatch. "Take this, cover Teren. We'll cover you from here. Ozzi, there's a round of HE already up the spout."

"Yeah."

"Roge," Golli took the weapon reluctantly and stood guard by Teren who undid the covers for Bomb's fuel tanks and started to pour the fuel in.

"Want to be out of here quick as we can," Rinek said.

"Easy for him to say, tucked away safe in there," Golli said to Teren in an undertone. "We're sitting ducks here."

* * *

The dust had yet to even settle when Izuru leapt into the minefield and made for the two Guardians. The others, untouched, had dropped into a crouch and had their weapons raised. Seeing Izuru recklessly running for the wounded, a Guardian shouted at her to stay back. She ignored him and carried on. The Guardian knocked over by the explosion had stood up and was staggering around, his hands scrabbling to remove his damaged helmet. The other, lying on his back, was moaning softly.

"I need assistance!" Izuru cried, putting her hands on the Guardian's shoulders. "Come down on your knees, down on your knees!"

"I think it's my eye," the Guardian said shakily, allowing Izuru to kneel him down. "I can't see out of my left eye."

"See to him!" Izuru shouted, pointing at the prone Guardian. "Hush, let me remove your helmet." Gently she pulled the dirty gold helmet upwards and laid it gently on the ground. The left eyepiece, normally a smooth red, had been shattered. The pieces were now embedded in the flesh around the Guardian's eye and on his nose. Blood leaked down his brow and over his closed eyelid which was swelling up. He was very young, even for a Black Guardian, with long fair hair tied back and strong features now masked by blood.

"Is it - is it serious?" the Guardian's voice trembled.

"Not at all," Izuru lied. The poor soul's left eye was now irrevocably damaged, likely beyond repair, though it hardly constituted a threat to his life. Ulthwé would willingly grant him a new eye.

"Should I apply pressure?"

"No…" Izuru was distracted by the other Guardian's crying. Two of his comrades were removing the upper leg pieces and groin guard his armour where the shrapnel had torn through it like paper.

"Is my, is my…?" the wounded Guardian tried to raise himself up and touch his bloody groin.

"Everything is intact, Ysu," the other two reassured him. "We are tying off the blood flow. You shall not bleed out."

"That is good, b–because I think I would've wanted to die if I'd lost my genitalia," Ysu blurted, still trying to touch his groin.

"Hello? Are you still here?" the Guardian with Izuru asked.

"Yes, yes I am."

"Pressure to my eye—"

"—no, no, I will provide you with an eyeshield and moxifloxacin," Izuru replied. Looking over her shoulder she saw Keladi returning with the Autarch, the latter shrewdly bringing a healers kit with him.

"I – I saw you with the Autarch," the Guardian babbled. "I–I've never seen a being as beautiful as you before. I do not know your name."

"Izuru," Izuru replied, laying her palm on the Guardian's cheek. "And you?"

"Set."

"Well, Set, you will live."

"Your words lift the heart, Izuru." Set's face, though contorted in pain, softened. He smiled.

"Eyeshield, moxifloxacin," Izuru told Anon. Pointing across to Ysu she said, "tend to him first."

"Come, give me your hand," Anon helped Set to his feet and helped him away. Ysu was gently lifted onto a makeshift litter and borne into the troopship after his comrade.

"Someone will have heard," Anon said on his return. "…I do not think we are in Imperial territory," he glanced around, rubbing his hands together worriedly. "This may have been a mistake."

"No," Izuru shook her head adamantly. "We'll find the humans, mark my words, though I think it best the ship departs while it still can. Ysu and Set need immediate medical attention."

Anon turned towards the vessel and spoke into a device on his wrist. "We are ordering our only means of transportation away," he said after the troopship had lifted off into the pink, early-morning sky.

"Yes," Izuru said shortly. She was waiting for the Autarch to question her judgement and was pleasantly surprised when he refrained from doing so. Keladi, silent nearby, looked to have a question on the tip of her tongue. A quick glance from Izuru was enough to silence her. "We will form single file and strike out on the path the furthest of us made."

"By your will," Anon said. "We require a point—"

"—I shall lead," Izuru said immediately before anyone could volunteer. "Keladi, remain with the Autarch."

Taking Set's fallen lasblaster, Izuru strode confidently forwards, keeping her path straight as the ground began to rise ahead towards a crest ringed with broken, frost-covered boulders. Behind her the Guardians exchanged curious glances, bemused as to why the Ambassador was risking her own life now by insisting that she was to go first. Anon too was puzzled but had a newfound respect for the former ranger.

Near the summit Izuru's hood was whipped back by a sharp gust of wind, exposing her bare head. Squatting, she turned and stared down at the low point in the valley where they'd landed. Cocking her head to one side, she frowned, sensing something was coming. Without prior warning, three explosions went off right where they had been standing not five minutes before. The lack of the telltale incoming moan told Izuru it was mortar fire. _82 mm, ranging shots,_ she sussed it was a human weapon firing. What was wrong however was the seven or so minutes between the mine going off and the rounds falling. No Imperial crew would take such a long time to do so. Their discipline was iron-hard and their doctrine dictated that they should be able to fire such-and-such rounds a minute. _Unless it isn't the Imperials_ _but rather a Chaos battery targeting us…_

The others had picked up the pace on hearing the bangs in the valley and made a quick dash for the cover of the boulders. Anon Brightfire knelt by Izuru's shoulder, "those mortars…"

"Chaos, not imperial."

"Beyond any doubt."

The Autarch did a headcount as the party gathered amongst the rocks. "All accounted for, Ambassador, no wounded."

"Autarch!" a Guardian, lying prone, waved Anon over.

"What is it?" Izuru lay down in the dirt next to Anon and sighted down her lasblaster's optics.

"Directly ahead of us in the open, 250 yards, a large concentration of vehicles."

"Wrecks, all of them," Anon said without bothering to look with his scope. His eyesight was phenomenal, Izuru remarked. She too could see the carcasses of vehicles lying both on and off a wide highway. Tanks, personnel carriers, trucks, cars, everything four-wheeled the Imperium owned. All were now blackened wrecks.

"What is that smell?" Keladi piped up.

"Smell?"

 _The child's sinuses must be particularly acute_ , Izuru thought. Even she could barely smell the sickly sweet stench of roasted flesh. It was an ever-present feature in the aftermath of every single battle that had ever taken place in history. Despite its omni-presence, no one ever talked about it. Izuru understood why, it was because some parts of war were better left unspoken about.

"Infantry, Chaos, company-sized, coming over the crest of the ridge. Range 200 yards," a Guardian spoke softly.

Izuru glassed the distant, rocky hills and noticed there were indeed Chaos troops haring down the slope towards the wreckage-strewn highway. _Why would they do that? What is more interesting than us, all alone and ripe for the taking?_

"I see what they are after," Anon said, glancing across at Izuru. "There is a tank."

"Tank?" Izuru glassed the wrecks, sweeping her lasblaster across the mass of blackened steel. "I do not – wait…" she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her when one tank, seemingly dead amongst the others, turned its turret. Its long gun tube pointed at the Chaos militia for an instant before giving a flash. The sharp crack took a second or two to travel across the uneven wasteland before reaching the Eldar's ears. Izuru followed the bright streak of light that exploded amongst the militia in a black cloud of smoke and flame.

"Who is fighting who there?" Keladi, without any form of eye-relief, asked her.

"Those are Chaos warriors, Keladi," Izuru invited the younger woman to look through her scope. "Their target, amongst the wrecks to their right, is an imperial tank."

"The bad humans?"

Izuru nodded, "and those that are in the tank…"

"They are the good humans?"

"Yes."

* * *

Teren waited with baited breath for the order. His finger rested lightly on the starter switch, ready to hold it down. Everything was ready. The fuel line had been fixed, Bomb had fuel and they were all ready to go. _We should be underway by now. What's taking Rinek so long?_

"Teren, you copy?" Rinek's voice was clear in Teren's ear.

"Copy."

"Get us moving."

"Roge," Teren pressed the starter switch, grateful at having something purposeful to do finally The low whine in his ears grew to an incandescent roaring as the engine turned over. From outside came a sharp bang – a backfire – followed by a _put-put-put_ and gouts of blue smoke shooting from the exhausts. Keeping his finger held firmly on the starter, Teren swung his periscope around. He was fearful now that the loud backfire, akin to a gunshot, would attract enemy troops or bring in mortars or artillery on them. But he could see nothing in his narrow field of vision, just the charred wrecks and the early morning sunshine.

"Teren lay off!" Rinek said sharply. Teren let go of the ignition and felt the engine's noise rescind.

"Fire!" Rinek grabbed a small extinguisher from a bracket by his knee and kicked Golli in the shoulder, "Golli with me!"

"Where?" Teren cried passing his own extinguisher upwards to Golli.

"Engine!" Rinek shouted back down into the turret. "Golli keep your eyes peeled!"

"Got it," Ozzi replied, stone-cold.

"Aw shit, not now, Bomb, not now," Golli muttered. Pulling back the twin grates covering the engine. Two small fires had sprung up inside the engine compartment. "Give us a break why don't ya."

Rinek and Golli's bursts quickly quelled the flames. "Well, whadda you think?" Golli's eyes were full of uncertainty.

"We try again. We try again and again until Bomb wants to co-operate," Rinek said determinedly. "We're getting out of here, all of us."

Leaning over the open turret hatch, Rinek called softly, "Teren, try again." But Teren did not reply. Instead there was a whir of hydraulics and Ozzi's warning cry.

"Corp, infantry, ten o' clock!"

"They seen us?" Rinek raised his glasses and saw a large mob of infantry – militia – surge over a ridgeline about fifty yards away.

"Maybe not but they heard us."

Tiny, pinprick-sized muzzle flashes accompanied the militia as they poured down the slope and onto the road ahead of Bomb. "Yep they've definitely seen us!" Rinek ducked behind the turret as rounds snapped and hissed around him. "Golli, get those covers fixed, Now!"

Ozzi, manning the gun, got off a round of HE which exploded fiercely amongst the centre-mass of the Chaos infantry. It did little to scatter them however and had even less of an effect on their numbers. Undeterred, the enemy charged forwards, leap-frogging by squads, drenching Bomb's hull with gunfire in an attempt to keep the tank suppressed.

"You done there, Golli?" Rinek cried above the loud rattle of Bomb's co-ax.

"Yeah, yeah, go!" Golli waved at Rinek to get back inside.

"You be right behind me!" Rinek dived headfirst into the turret. "TEREN, GET US MOVING!" he cried as he reconnected his intercom.

"I need HE!" Ozzi shouted, spraying tracers at the incoming horde.

Rinek scrambled down for a shell, coming back with a white phosphorus round. "Take it, Ozzi!"

"Where's Golli?" Ozzi exclaimed, pumping out the WP into the closest group of Perfs. "COME ON THEN!"

"GOLLI, GET BACK INSIDE!" Rinek screamed. He made to lift his head out of the turret but was forced back inside as incoming rounds hammered on the cupola. Above the racket the engine was still giving trouble.

"C'mon, Bomb, work with me here," Teren spat. His periscope was filled with the sight of running Perfs.

"THAT ALL YOU GOT!" Ozzi snarled, his finger clamped solidly on the co-ax's trigger, chewing bloody gaps through any militia caught in his fusillade.

"GOLLI!" Rinek tried again to look outside to see where the loader was but was forced back inside again by a storm of fire, the intensity of which was noticeably ramping up.

"SHIT, SHIT!" Teren grabbed the hatch above his head and locked it on hearing heavy boots trampling on the outer hull and the banging of rifle butts.

"GET OFF BOMB, YOU PERF SCUM!" Ozzi shouted angrily, his blood up.

"Teren, lock your hatch," Rinek ordered, slamming his own shut and locking it tight.

"NO, GOLLI'S STILL OUTSIDE!"

"WE GOTTA GO OUT AND GET HIM!" Ozzi looked back at Rinek for a beat. "HUH?"

"I got drive – I GOT DRIVE!" Teren hooted, shunting Bomb into first.

"HOLD! Stay, we're not moving," Rinek said. "I'm gonna fire the smoke launchers then go outside and get him. Wait for my signal. Teren, you got grenades?"

"Yeah," Teren grabbed a pair from a bin next to his seat. "Say the word."

"When I fire the smoke, dump 'em out of your hatch."

"Roger!"

"Ozzi, load HE, make as much noise as you can."

"Got it," Ozzi grunted, hauling an HE upwards and shoving it into the breech.

"Okay," Rinek checked his Stronica was loaded as well as his sidearm and readied himself. "Standby, Teren," he said calmly, his finger hovering above the smoke discharger button. A whoosh and Bomb was covered in a thick blanket of grey smoke. The metallic banging lessened as confusion took hold outside. "Here we go…" Rinek tensed, gripping his Stronica tightly. He and Teren unlocked their hatches. The two grenade pins dropping onto the floor amongst the spent shell cases were deafening inside the fighting compartment. "Ozzi, ready?"

"Ready," the gunner replied, his voice cold and hard.

" _C'mon_ ," Teren whispered, holding the primed bombs above his head.

"…GO!"

The instant the words left Rinek's mouth, all hell broke loose around Bomb.


	30. Chapter 29

07:52/M41/02-40.999/Nemesis Tessera/Nemesis System/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

Two roars, almost in sync with one another, were intermixed with shrieks of agony from the Perfs clinging to Bomb's hull. Rinek heard the torturous clatter of fragmentation against the armour plate as well as the many thuds of bodies falling to the ground. Then a third report, a mighty crack from Bomb's cannon followed by the staccato rattle from the co-ax drowned out any ulterior noise. Pushing his hatch open, Rinek shoved his Stronica upwards and swung his legs out onto the rear deck. Too many things were happening at once: the swirling smokescreen, the screams of dying Perfs caught by the frags, the gunfire, and the confused shouts coming from the disorganised mob which had been forced to retreat out of the deadly radius of Teren's grenades; devastating anyone in front of and on Bomb's flanks.

" _Golli?_ " Rinek hissed as loud as he dared. Dropping downwards, Rinek stumbled as his boot heel came into contact with the squishy stomach of a dead Perf lying on his back. It made a curious farting noise – gases expelling from the system. Keeping low, Rinek turned and came face to face with a bare-faced Perf. In the half second the two looked at one another, Rinek noticed the blood running from the man's ears and dribbling down his chin and the tatty rags that passed for a uniform. Wordlessly the Perf raised both arms. His hands had lost every single one of their appendages with all that remained being small, bloody stumps poking out of shredded gloves. The inside of his mouth, a round, pink hole in a white, frostbitten face opened. "Mama…" he droned, his face frozen in a blank, expressionless stare.

Rinek shot him in the head. He did not even wait for the Perf to sink to the ground, rather shoved him to one side and forgot about his existence. " _Golli?_ "

Outside the cloud of smoke, someone must have pulled themselves together and organised an assault as the warcries of militia charging haphazardly grew in Rinek's ears. "Shit," he muttered, whirling around. Dark figures began to materialise from the smoke, gripping rifles tipped with serrated bayonets.

" _Corp, down 'ere!_ " a hand tugged at Rinek's ankle.

"Golli?!" Rinek realised it was Golli's hand poking out from between the roadwheels.

"Get down here!" Golli cried from underneath the tank. "C'mon!"

Throwing himself around the rear of Bomb, Rinek dove underneath the hull and crawled over to where Golli lay. "Where you hit?"

"Leg…" Golli indicated his right leg. A bullet or shrapnel piece had torn into the thigh and blood was now soaking his trouserleg. "…S'alright, I've 'ad worse," he grinned weakly.

"Yeah," Rinek angled his neck upwards and twisted his body. The narrow space between the hull and the ground was just that tiny bit too narrow to allow him unimpeded movement.

"Wha' you lookin' for?" Golli asked, glancing out between the roadwheels at the mob of Perfs bearing down on Bomb's unprotected flank.

"You know full well what I'm looking for, Trooper," Rinek growled, "…ah-ha, gotcha." His fist found the floor hatch and started to knock on it, "dunno why you couldn't have just banged on here – we'd have come down here instead."

"Oh yeah why didn't ya?" Golli said indignantly. "You nearly bought the farm leaping out the turret like that… bloody barmy."

"C'mon, Teren, it's right under your feet!" Rinek snarled. With nothing to do in the driver's position, Teren had clambered up to the loader's perch and was swapping between loading the main gun and firing the co-ax. Ozzi's blistering rate of fire certainly seemed to support that and with no one down below meant the two crewmen likely couldn't hear Rinek's fist on the hull underneath them.

"…I thought you were lying on the ground outside somewhere, _that's_ why I got out the top, not the bottom!" Rinek snapped, frustrated at the tight confines they were now in. On both sides of Bomb, heavy booted feet were crowding around, treading on corpses, helping one another upwards onto the hull to pry at hatches and block periscopes.

 _What a way to go,_ Rinek thought glumly. It would only be a matter of time before someone had the initiative to kneel down and peer underneath the tank to see what was there. Rinek imagined the grenades tossed towards them or the rows and rows of probing bayonets, stabbing aggressively at flesh and bone until both he and Golli had had the fight beaten out of them. What happened next Rinek refused to play out in his mind as it wouldn't happen that way, he would make damn sure of that.

"Golli, look at me," Rinek said quietly, bringing his Stronica forwards and holding it between them. "You're the best damn loader in the Dragoons."

"No, no, on, Otto, no…" Golli shook his head desperately, his voice straining. "S'not what's gonna happen see. We're gonna win, we always win don't we? Not gonna let 'em win this time."

"No, no, we're not gonna let them win, Golli. But to do that we gotta lose."

"Nah, s'not fair on Teren and Ozzi, Otto, let's just keep quiet and—"

"—hope they go away?"

Golli chuckled. His face had gone pale. "Dunno, maybe send Ozzi out there, get him try and talk our way outta this with that silver tongue of his."

"Not a bad plan, Gol," Rinek grinned, touching him on the shoulder affectionately.

A loud scream, directed at them, made Rinek twist his head around. Their luck had ended there and then as a Perf, kneeling down in the frozen mud, had looked between the road wheels and spotted them lying underneath the tank. As he fumbled with his rifle, trying to aim it inbetween the bogies, Rinek fired a single round, turning the recognisably human face into a ghastly splattering of shattered bone, torn pieces of hair-covered skin and glistening, grey brain matter. " _Hah, shit…_ " he snorted as the corpse without a face slowly fell forwards, wedging what remained of its head inbetween the bogies.

"Give it me…" Golli murmured, "…wanna go out shooting."

A delirious grin was on his face when he pumped the Stronica's trigger, aiming vaguely at feet and legs as they danced around, trying to figure out from which new direction they were being fired on. It did not take long for the militia to work it out.

"Nice servin' with ya, Gol," Rinek clasped Golli's hand tightly, staring determinedly at his friend.

"Could n'a asked for a better commander…" Golli eyes were fluttering, struggling to stay open. Both lay still and waited for the end.

A strange occurrence then befell them. Both, anticipating a horrific demise, closed their eyes and held onto one another tight. But instead of the lunging bayonets or roar of grenades they heard screams coming from the Perfs instead. Rinek's eyes snapped open. He stared, dumbstruck, as bolts of light, too quick for his eye to follow, lanced out from the thinning smoke that had spread out to the surrounding area. Each shot made a loud hiss in flight, the very air being manipulated by the unnatural force of the energy bolts.

Perfs began to drop. Each streak of light made a miniscule explosion that detonated on their bodies, armoured or otherwise, and tore off limbs. Fizzing, crackling pieces of smoking, singed flesh and some burnt-up cloth fragments – all in the space of four seconds – were all that remained of the militia that had been mobbing Bomb.

" _Oh, fuck me…_ " Rinek, the battle-hardened career NCO, openly trembled on seeing what came forth from the smoke.

Striding confidently towards Bomb with heads held high and lasrifles raised were Stickies: tall, slim, black-armoured Xenos with gold-plated helmets and glimmering red eyes.

Instead of crawling backwards and away from the new threat, Rinek felt himself drawn like a magnet to them. One Stickie noticed Rinek's dirt and oil-covered face peering out at them from underneath the tank and drew a bead on him in less than a heartbeat. However again Rinek's life was spared when, most puzzling, the Xeno lowered its weapon slightly. The tiniest glace to its right seemed to suggest that it had been given an order to stand down.

"Stay here, Golli," Rinek whispered, "take the Stronica and cover me." Golli did not reply when Rinek laid the weapon down beside him. " _Okay_ ," Rinek clamped his jaw together and crawled unceremoniously backwards out from underneath Bomb. Keeping his hands raised, Rinek picked his way through the piles of corpses and body parts littering the ground, moving around to the left flank; the side closest to the Xenos.

 _What do they want?_ Rinek wondered, glancing behind him at Bomb. He hadn't heard anything from Teren or Ozzi since he'd dismounted, just them firing their weapons like mad. Now though the cannon and stubber had fallen silent. Rinek did not want to call out to them for fear of startling the Xenos who, at thirty yards distant, would fell him before he could even draw breathe. No, better to remain silent and hope his crews' triggerfingers hadn't grown overly itchy in the fight.

The thumping in Rinek's head grew harsher as the Stickies moved closer. There was something alien, something terrifyingly inhuman in the way they walked, the way they carried themselves, held their weapons and even how they slowly turned their heads to survey their surroundings. The red lenses in their masks glinted ominously, tracking Rinek's movements and his body language, anticipating any subtle gesture he might otherwise make.

 _Who the hell is that?_ Rinek's heart quickened. It was already going nineteen to the dozen but seemed to rise even higher as a very different Stickie appeared amongst those in black. It was smaller and slimmer than the warriors and clad in a bone-white, tightly-fitting suit of armour and wore a flowing mane of crimson hair that cascaded down from the crown of its helmet. A sword was sheathed at its waist. The Stickie was female, unquestionably, but was she the one in charge?

A whir of hydraulics behind Rinek made him snap out of the stupor. Ozzi was traversing the turret around to the left, targeting…

" _Oh shit_ ," Rinek muttered. Dread gripped him when the long gun tube ceased its tracking and pointed at the female Stickie. "OZZI, HOLD YOUR FI—"

The warning came too late. A short burst of .30 calibre fire spat at the Stickies. The female Stickie with the red hair was hit squarely in the chest and caught a ricochet in the face as her breastplate deflected the glowing red tracer upwards. The sharp blow snapped her head back violently and forced her over backwards until she lost her balance and toppled back very slowly. She was all set to slam into the ground when a robed Stickie rushed out of the smoke and, in an oddly graceful movement, caught her in its arms before she hit the ground.

" _What have you done, Ozzi?_ " Rinek hissed. He had thrown himself flat and now lay still underneath the gun. The burst above his head had temporarily left him deafened with bells ringing in his ears.

In response to the shooting, the black Stickies had scattered to the left and right, out of the firing arc of the cannon but were still refraining from shooting. "DO NOT SHOOT! DO NOT SHOOT!" The words came from the cloaked and hooded Stickie who held the motionless red-haired Stickie in her arms. The speaker too was female and called out in nigh-accentless gothic with the only the tiniest trace of a sing-song Xeno accent.

In response, Rinek raised his hands, palms outward. _God, I hope Ozzi gets the message._ Rinek winced, turning his pained expression upwards at Bomb. _There's been enough killing here for one morning,_ he grimaced and clenched his nostrils tight as the familiar odour of frazzled meat explored his nasal passage.

* * *

"Cover the Ambassador!" Anon Brightfire spoke quietly but firmly into his comm-bead. "Do not fire on the human. Do not fire on the human."

"Keladi!" Izuru gently lowered the banshee onto the ground. "Keladi, can you hear me?"

Stunned, Keladi remained still for a brief moment before regaining her senses. Her helmet's speakers produced garbled noises that sounded like a hacking cough. The right 'cheekbone' and the eye lense had been hit by the single round that had glanced off of her breastplate, leaving a large rend on the right breast and a blackened burn mark. The kinetic force had been quelled somewhat by the glancing hit but was still enough to inflict damage to Keladi's mask and stun her briefly.

"Here, let me remove your mask," Izuru said in a hushed tone. With slow purpose, she gently lifted Keladi's mask upwards and clear of her head. The girl's right cheek, around the bone, had severe bruising and was swelling up. Tiny shards of her mask's eye lense and the material around it had been forced inwards, peppering her skin. The fragments had also become embedded in her eye which was slowly being filled with blood, the thin red trails of which were running down from cuts beneath her eyebrow. "Autarch, I require a healer!" Izuru called.

One of the Guardians detached from the rest and was over by Izuru in a heartbeat. "Diagnosis?" he asked, setting down a healer's satchel beside them.

"Wraithbone shards embedded in the right brow, cheekbone and eye," Izuru replied curtly, "glancing blow to the right breast." At this Keladi began to tremble, first faintly then more vigorously. "Shock!" Izuru placed her hands firmly on Keladi's shoulder plates to hold her still. The undamaged side of Keladi's face was pale and sweaty. Her eyes had glassed over as she shook more violently. The Guardian produced a piece of wraithbone shaped like a pistol with a needle for a bore. "Minor dose," he declared, before injecting Keladi in the neck. The effect was almost instantaneous, calming Keladi down and preventing any more convulsions.

"There, you're alright, Keladi," Izuru whispered, brushing strands of hair away from her bloody eye. "Everything will be fine."

"If I may, Ambassador, I must see to the patient," the Guardian said.

"Yes, at once."

" _Do not leave me…_ " Keladi pleaded, her voice hollow.

"I will be but a stone's throw away. You will never be out of my sight, young one," Izuru said, standing up. As she turned away she paused briefly, considering her words. She had wanted to say something different and less formal than 'young one' but lacked the will to do so.

 _You will never be out of my sight, Little Sister,_ was what she wished to say. But the instant her mind considered it, she felt her spirit harden. Keladi had had a lucky escape there, a close call with death. The suddenness had shocked Izuru and dragged her leaden heart down. If the adolescent girl was killed in her care, she wasn't sure she would be able to live with herself.

Rinek rose cautiously to his feet, his hand resting on the warm gun tube. A creak of springs above his head told him the commander's hatch had just been pushed open. "Ozzi!" Rinek waved as his gunner's head appeared.

"Otto…" Ozzi's sweaty, dirt-covered face had tear tracts running down both cheeks. On seeing his commander alive and unscathed he sighed with relief. His eyes then passed over Rinek and focused on the nearby company of Stickies. "Shit!" Ozzi went for his shoulder holster and whipped out a stub pistol. Rinek heard the tiny click of a safety being disengaged and waved his hands frantically.

"Ozzi wait!" he cried.

"Otto, who the fuck are those people?!" Ozzi shouted. His appearance had invited the black Stickies to train their longarms on him and Rinek again. Rinek did not like standoffs as they usually ended in both parties quickly winding up dead or dying.

"They're Stickies, Ozzi. They're not here for us – _they_ slotted the Perfs here," Rinek spread his arms wide, indicating the heaps of dead around Bomb. "That look like .30 cal wounds to you?"

"Xeno bastards," Ozzi muttered.

"Ozzi, safety that sidearm and put it away. Then get Teren out here, we need to pull Golli out from underneath the tank; he's wounded."

"Shit, Golli..." Ozzi slipped back inside. The reminder that his fellow crewman was in the lurch prompted him to forget about the 'Xeno bastards', as he so put, and go get Teren.

 _What are you doing here then?_ Rinek glanced at the Stickies and saw the smaller, red-haired Stickie was on her back, being tended to by the hooded Stickie and another.

"What's this about Stickies?" Teren asked, climbing out of the driver's hatch.

"Help me with Golli," Rinek pointed underneath Bomb's hull.

"What are they doing, they're just sitting there," Teren stared uneasily at the motionless Xenos. "Did they…?"

"Yeah, they're the reason we're standing here right now," Rinek replied. "Make of that what you will."

Both men lay down in the dirt and wriggled into the gap beneath the tank. "Golli, y'alright, lad?" Teren tugged at the motionless Golli's leg.

"That's his wounded leg," Rinek said quickly.

"Oh, sorry, pal."

"Golli? Must've passed out," Rinek guessed. "Give us a hand here, Teren."

"Ozzi's bringing the medkit," Teren grunted as they pulled Golli out into the open. "Rinek?"

Rinek had stopped when the light was cast on Golli's face. His hearing shut down, blocking out Teren. Time slowed to a crawl.

Golli's dull, lifeless eyes gazed up at the sky. He was smiling. His fingers still had a firm grip on the Stronica. Rinek reached down and gently pressed Golli's eyelids shut. Beside him, Teren had gone quiet. "Golli alright? I got the medkit," Ozzi called, dropping down from the hull.

"He won't be needing it," Rinek said solemnly.

Ozzi stopped dead. The medkit slowly fell from his hands, clattering to the ground. He sat down beside Teren, a dead expression on his face. Neither man spoke though Rinek saw the devastation in their eyes. He was no different. They had lost a brother. He had lost a son.

"We take him with us, bring him home," Ozzi said softly.

"Can't do that," Rinek replied bitterly.

"Wha' we tell his family? We left his body behind." Teren sneered.

"They'd understand," Rinek tugged at the collar of Golli's overalls and pulled out his ID tags. "We'll tell them he died protecting his pals."

"Yeah but they ain't gonna, are they?" Ozzi moaned. "The Imperium's just gonna say how he died for the Emperor, all pious and noble. I don't – I don't _see_ the Emperor out here, he ain't down in the shit with the grunts watching our backs, humping ammo or Comp C. He never pulls stag or covers a sector. S'all bollocks, s'all bollocks…" Ozzi trailed off, his voice straining to breaking point.

"Cover him up," Rinek ordered, standing up and pulling his gloves back on.

"Stickie bastards," Ozzi choked, shooting a glance at the Stickies who were watching the crew warily.

"Ain't their fault," Rinek said, helping the other two unroll a tarpaulin and cover the body. "Thanks to them we're alive."

"Thank them? Don't thank them for anything, they're bloody Xenos!"

"Yeah, fuck every last one, they started this war, now we're gonna finish it!" Teren added.

"Alright Teren," Rinek patted his shoulder. "Get back inside and start her up. We've hung around here too long. Ozzi, check the fifty cal for damage."

As Teren slammed his hatch shut, Ozzi poked Rinek in the shoulder and pointed, "hey, them Stickies want a word."

The hooded Stickie, alongside a heavily-armoured Stickie in white robes was coming towards them.

"Ozzi, get on the fifty. Cover me."

"Don't need to tell me twice," Ozzi muttered, scrambling up onto the engine deck and training the stubber on the approaching Stickies.

* * *

Rinek wore a hard expression as he moved out from under the gun tube a few paces away from Bomb. Both Xeno's were tall and slim. The female, well over six feet tall, had her face in shadow. The male, bareheaded, looked to over seven feet high. Both were imposing to say the least.

Rinek stopped when the Xenos did. They were five paces apart, or rather two for the male. Up close they could, at the briefest glance, pass for a human if their faces were in shadow and the pointed ears were covered. It didn't seem right to Rinek that Stickies looked so humanlike yet were completely alien to them. It unnerved him. There was something else too, a curious presence, not physical in the sense that it surrounded the Stickies like a cloud of gas, but a queer mental projection so potent that Rinek could feel it in his mind. A horrible thought then came into his head: _are they reading my thoughts?_

"Salutations, human," the male Stickie said in a deep, rich voice. His gothic was heavily accented and the words were running clumsily off his tongue, forming near-incomprehensible gibberish. Rinek stared up at the Stickie, nonplussed; _salutations, really?_

The female Stickie made a subtle gesture, raising a hand to silence her companion, before stepping in. "Hello," she said. In blatant contrast, her gothic was near-flawless. It had been she who had called out after Ozzi had fired on them. Rinek was surprised at the Stickie's fluency, again shaken that the hostile alien could appear so human. It was not natural, none of it was.

"I am an emissary from my people, the Eldar, representing Craftworld Ulthwé. I must speak with your commanding officer immediately, soldier, it is of the utmost urgency."

Rinek was instantly dismissive. He had been taught not to trust Xenos and this occasion was no exception. The way the Stickie spoke, her tone, her accent, just seemed off. Shrugging, Rinek turned away and began to walk back to Bomb; _nothing doing_.

"Were we not in the vicinity you would have all been killed!" the female Stickie said with a sudden ferocity, "you and your precious machine!" She carried on after Rinek, ignoring the warning look from her companion. "I am not your enemy, human. We seek the same goals. Both our races are at war with or will soon be at war with the forces of Chaos."

Rinek stopped, turned and glanced at the Stickie before looking down at the tarpaulin stained dark with blood. The Stickie seemed to realise quickly what had the human's attention, made all the more clear by the pair of identification disks dangling from his clenched fist.

"You have my deepest condolences."

Rinek said nothing and clambered back aboard Bomb. He did not want to know. Tapping Ozzi on the shoulder, Rinek replaced the stubber's retaining pin and vaulted through the commander's hatch. The Stickie was still standing there, refusing to go away. If anything Rinek wanted them to attack. He needed something to kill, an outlet to which he could vent his rage.

Reconnecting his intercom, Rinek spoke to Teren, "driver, move out, get us out of here."

"What those Stickies want?" Teren asked, firing the ignition.

"Nothing," Rinek replied flatly, "not interested in us."

Vibrations ran through Bomb as Teren revved the engine. Rinek glanced at his wrist and noticed a tiny snowflake land. More, many more were now falling from the skies to settle on the ground.

"I implore you…"

Rinek started angrily as he realised the Stickie had jumped up onto the hull. "Get off!" he snarled.

"I must speak with you commanding officer on a matter of extreme urgency," the Stickie said, leaning over the turret. A gust of wind caught her hood and whipped it back. Rinek stared in disbelief as a quite human face was revealed. He was about to ask whether the Stickie was in fact human when he noticed the pointed ears partly underneath the Xeno's short hair. There was something amiss here.

"Get off!" he repeated, laying his Stronica on the turret beside him threateningly.

"Please, I have a wounded soldier. By military law you are required to provide aid to any and all wounded enemy personnel; including Xenos!"

"Nothing doing, my officer's dead, it's just us. Case you haven't noticed _Xeno_ , we're in the middle of hostile territory here, you're miles away from any Imperial forces."

"Then please allow us to travel under your protection. We can both benefit from this, only I _must_ reach your headquarters and deliver my message as quickly as possible. Lives depend on it; Xeno and human."

"You're mad if you think I'm gonna bring you along, Xeno," Rinek spat, shaking his head disdainfully. "Not a chance in _hell!_ "

"Were we interested in your extermination we could have simply sat back and watched the Chaos soldiers break into your tank and torture you to death. Let us call a truce, for a while at least. Then maybe we can go back to killing one another on sight. Does that satisfy you?"

Rinek paused, his eyes travelling between the male Stickie and the peculiar female. "Grab your wounded, put 'em on the engine deck."

"Gratitude," the Stickie leapt down and hurried away. The male fell in beside her and began to jabber away in their Xeno tongue.

Anon Brightfire caught a gleam in Izuru's eye. "Well, did the human consider your request?"

"There is a temporary truce in effect, for now at least, I just hope it will last. The human has granted us permission to travel in his company until we find the Imperial lines."

"So we are on the wrong side of the lines then…"

"You are free to say 'I told you so', Izuru."

"Indeed."

Keladi, having returned to her senses, was sitting cross-legged beside her broken helmet and her dented breast-plate. She now had a thick bandage wrapped around her head, covering her right eye which had been weeping blood.

"How does she fare?" Izuru asked the Guardian tending to her.

"There is nothing I can do to save the right eye, Ambassador. I have sterilised the wound, so no chance of infection. The hit to her sternum has caused severe bruising to her ribs, some of which may be broken, I cannot tell here."

"Thank you, your service has been noted," Izuru nodded. "Keladi?"

"Armour's damaged," Keladi said quietly. "It is useless."

"Were it not for your armour's fortitude your life would've been ended." Izuru took the banshee by the hand and hauling her to her feet. Keladi winced and touched her bad side.

"It hurts," she whispered.

"Out here, everything hurts," Izuru said gently, tightening the scarf around Keladi's neck. "You will learn to live with it. Now, chin up," she tilted Keladi's head upwards. "There, better already."

"I shall not set foot on that manmade abomination," Anon said firmly, "it is degrading."

"I am well familiar with degradation, Autarch. I would have you and your warriors scout ahead of the human tank. You will be our eyes and ears."

"We are warriors, Izuru, not scouts. But we will do as you command."

"Gratitude, Anon Brightfire."

"May Jain Zar's fire keep you warm," Keladi said suddenly.

"Likewise, young one," Anon made the sign of Ulthwé and smiled.

"Come, we must be away from here," Izuru beckoned Keladi to follow her.

"Are we – are we travelling in that?" she asked, looking up at the smoke-belching beast worriedly, "I do not want to go inside."

"We shall ride atop it, Keladi, but do not speak to the human you see there; he will not speak to you."

"I cannot speak gothic anyway."

"Can you not?" Izuru frowned, "t'was customary on Alaitoc to become fluent in all widely-spoken alien languages, both low and high-gothic amongst them."

"Ulthwé is different," Keladi grunted, struggling to climb up onto the rear deck.

"Wait," Izuru leapt lithely onto the tank and helped Keladi aboard. "Stay down, you will be safe there."

"I wasn't planning on taking a stroll," the banshee replied. Her hand was pressed firmly on her damaged ribs. Izuru saw the pain in her eyes and felt it too.

Without prior warning, the tank lurched forwards, taking Keladi by surprise enough that she grabbed onto Izuru's leg to stop herself from tumbling off of the tank. Izuru looked down and almost smiled at the sight of the young warrior, white-faced and petrified at the unnatural motion. "I hope you don't fall ill here, little sister, the humans wouldn't like that very much and it wouldn't do for a first contact between our species," she said half-seriously.

Keladi looked up at Izuru to reply but it was lost, drowned out by the noise from the tank's engine.

 _Ah, there it is,_ Izuru chided herself. She could only go so far in denying the sisterly affection she felt for the poor girl, young as she was.

Resting a hand on the turret, Izuru touched the big human automatic mounted behind the tank commander's hatch. It smelt of oil and was loaded with big, half-inch slugs. _Moses .50 calibre stubber, crude but quite deadly, how humanlike._

Every now and again the human, standing head and shoulders out of the turret, would cast a glance back over his shoulder before reassuming his vigil. Izuru knew exactly how he felt and was, if anything, relieved for the suspicion and acute hostility. She was well-learned on the human psyche and understood the frighteningly overt hate for anything non-human that was preached, from the very highest levels of imperial society to the very lowest dregs. _I sense your distrust. But now, human, we must set aside our differences and start working together, whether you like it or not._

* * *

 _Thirty-seven klicks south…_

Clustered around a tiny fire, we took turns tossing primers, documents and any other sensitive material into the flames. The mood, already glum, was lessened further when, to our dismay, snow started to fall outside the cave we had taken shelter in.

"Any letters, pictures, documents with dates, addresses, toss it all, everything you've got," Sergeant Scherder moved among us, prying pictures of sweethearts and families from hands and throwing them in with the others. "Money or personal items, that's rubbers too, Rauer, Tozar," Scherder said sharply.

" _Shit_ ," Tozar pulled out two packets and tossed them away. Rauer had seven. He tutted and shook his head.

"Remove all unit and rank insignia, decorations too," Scherder pulled his medals from the breast of his tunic and added them to the fire.

"We're gonna get shot for this," Martti muttered, his runny nose on his sleeve.

"Better shot by our own people than the Perfs," Scherder said. "The Perfs will torture you to death. The Imperials will just grant us the firing squad."

"I'd rather we receive a hero's welcome," Antic said hopefully, "and a hot meal."

"Yeah," Stimm thumped him on the shoulder in agreement. "Yeah."

Scherder knelt in front of us and smiled grimly, "we will shortly be joining the ranks of the Chaos army. Here's how it's going to work. We move quick and quiet, no talking, no smoking, fingers off triggers. If anyone falls ill or is wounded, they get left behind with a round for themselves."

Crouched inbetween Martti and Erkki, I clasped the edges of my flak jacket tighter, conscious of the sliver of shrapnel in my chest. The unnatural warmth had ahold of me again. While everyone else was shivering, I was baking in my heavy vest and helmet.

"What about Staf?" Erkki indicated Staf lying on the stretcher. As the temperature had dropped, the blood on his face had frozen. The teeth embedded in the roof of his mouth had come loose and dropped out one by one. It did not lessen the pain though. In his few moments of coherence the only sounds he made were pitiful moans.

"He ain't dead, Sarn't," I said. "If we can just—"

"—Perfs don't care for their wounded, Larn. They don't have body-snatchers like we do. Once they're down, they're down for good. We must leave Staf behind if the platoon stands any chance of making it through."

Antti shook his head silently. Erkki, much more subdued than usual, looked to be on the verge of tears. Martti sniffed again and wiped away the snot running down his upper lip. It was he who spoke, "that's not fair, he's our mate, we're not gonna leave him for the Perfs. We don't leave people behind."

"The safety of the entire platoon is at risk, Private. You may stay with him if you wish and try to find your own way back. I do not rate your chances as particularly high though."

"He's dead, forget 'bout him," Tozar snapped.

Martti went at Tozar, scattering the ashes as he flew over the fire at him.

"Break it up!" Scherder and Rauer pried the frenzied Martti off of Tozar.

"Come on, sit down both of you," Scherder gripped Martti by the back of his neck. Rauer hauled Tozar over to sit opposite Martti. "Apologise to each other then shake hands. We're all friends here."

The fire had gone out of Martti. Tozar still looked livid and wrestled angrily in Rauer's grip.

"Say you're sorry," Rauer grunted.

"I'm sorry," Martti shrugged. "Alright."

"Say it, y'unruly bastard."

"Sorry, Private," Tozar growled.

"Once we're home you two may settle your differences, right now we need the both of you working as a team, not as individuals. If you step out of line again I'll slot you in the knee and leave you for the Perfs."

With that settled the platoon prepared to depart the cave. Weapons were picked up and mouthfuls of dehydrated rations quickly swallowed. Scherder stubbed out the last of the glowing ashes with his foot. He, Staf and I were the last ones to leave.

"Take care, Staf," I clasped Staf's limp hand briefly. Mercifully he was unconscious. I couldn't bear to look him in the eye.

"Larn, move out," Scherder said.

"Bye, mate," I whispered. Slinging my rifle, I followed the sergeant out of the cave.

Snow was falling thicker when we came upon a six-lane highway. Here we saw the extent of the bombing runs that had occurred the previous night. Desolation was an apt summary, in my opinion, but even then that couldn't do it justice. The way the land was torn up, blasted by fire and soiled with blood could not be described in written form. I dubbed it the Highway of Death.

"S'gotta be hundreds of vehicles," Stimm muttered.

"Thousands, boy. Look they're stretching all the way to the horizon," Vadim gaped.

"See the tail-end there, they hit them first then went after the pointmen. Boxed 'em all in, no escape," Antic pointed at where the trail of wreckage petered out to the right."

"This is Highway Thirteen," Scherder muttered, glancing at his map, "the main east-west roadway on the continent. It runs nearly dead-straight to the capital, Karamaya. We must move cautiously."

"Both sides of the road?" Rauer suggested. "My fireteam, the mortar and a stubber team on the north side, Larn's fireteam and the second stubber team on the south side, cover one another's advance?"

" _Thirteen_ …" I whispered to Martti. " _Don't like the sound o' that_."

"We stay together, keep spaced out and don't touch anything. If you see a weapon lying on the ground, a toy, some fresh compo, don't touch it. Remember, we are not alone out here." Scherder said to us all. "Everyone got it?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, Sarn't."

 _Karamaya: 70 Kilometres_ I read on a twisted, bullet-riddled sign that had once been painted blue but was now blackened by fire. What else had been printed on there was now unintelligible.

"Larn…" Antti, spaced out on my right, caught my eye. He shook his head in disbelief. I did likewise and closed my eyes for a moment before sighing quietly. There were Mk VII tanks, tracks, four-tonne Hennus', Wolf utilities and dozens of civilian cars, flatbed trucks and buses either scattered across the six lanes or, having driven off the road in an attempt to escape the bombing, out in the waste. Smoke still rose from many of them. The tanks and tracks had their ordnance disabled or removed, if it hadn't already been done so by the bombing. The Perfs had been thorough. Not a single rifle, magazine or even a shell casing was left.

"Have you seen this?" Martti said in astonishment and far too loudly. I shushed him angrily and came over to see what had caught his attention.

A corpse, blackened completely, was sitting, half-in, half-out of the frame of a car that had had its doors ripped off and the windows blown out. The body was gripping the frame with its right hand, apparently trying to escape as it had died. I shrugged at Martti, _so what?_ I motioned him to move on.

More bodies, having had their clothes burnt away by the intense heat, lay strewn around up ahead. Every single one was blackened and were little more than skeletons wearing boots with only a few scraps of cloth left attached to their skin. They stunk.

"S'a little girl," I heard someone mutter. Turning around I watched one of the mortarmen kneel beside a smaller corpse that had been sitting in the backseat of a car. The body, blackened like the rest, once had long hair that had grown to waist length. Now there were but a few thin strands left. Where her arms had been there were crumbling black stumps. Reaching down, the mortarman took a small doll from the girl's lap and stuffed in inside his vest.

" _Slaughter_ ," Antti whispered, " _lotta civvies got wasted here_."

I shrugged, _not our problem._

Rauer appeared. He had been walking point but turned round and now beckoned me closer. " _Get, Sarn't,_ " he said in my ear.

"Get the Sarn't," I hissed to a 1 Platoon member whose name I did not know.

Eventually Scherder was alerted and came forwards to Rauer. "What is it, contact?"

"Through here." Rauer led Scherder through a narrow gap between two tall buses. I waited for them to move off before following on.

"Stay here," I ordered Antti. To Martti and Erkki I held up a clenched fist, signalling them to halt. Through the gap, I saw Scherder kneeling next to Rauer. The latter turned on hearing me approach. I stopped dead on seeing what the two NCOs were looking at.

Corpses, unburnt and much fresher than the charred husks back up the highway were lying face-down on a wind sheet. They were arranged three deep in rows of ten. All were naked and had gunshot wounds to the back of the head.

"Thirty personnel, male and female, stripped naked and shot execution style," Rauer said to Scherder. "See the markings on their wrists; bindings."

"Poor bastards," Scherder said without a trace of remorse.

"I checked them over. None appear to be booby-trapped. However each one has traces of blood around the anus and abrasions on their knees and back. They were sexually abused."

"Larn," Scherder rounded on me. I stared at the corpses in morbid fascination and had to be shaken out of the odd trance. "Direct your fireteam around the side of the bus, don't lead them through here. Rauer, do the same with your team."

"Right," I grunted.

"What's in there?" Antti asked when I reappeared.

"Nothing, there's nothing. Move on."

A rest was called once the abuse victims were far back. I decided I needed to take a dump. "Stay within calling distance," Scherder said, a knife he was shortly about to use for a can-opener clamped between his teeth.

Trudging away from the others, armed with some bog-roll, I crested a small rise and came upon a family of bodies sitting in a circle on storage crates. Arranged in odd patterns in the centre were arms, legs, a head and even individual fingers.

Parking myself on a box, I looked across at what had once been a man on a crate adjacent to me. Were he not a blackened skeleton I might've mistaken him for sitting in quiet contemplation. The soldier or civilian was upright and was resting his or her arms on the knees and was staring downwards at the scorch marks on the ground.

"Clock's ticking, Larn," I heard him say.

"Yeah, I know," I replied, spitting on the ground and pulling down my trousers. The little prick of pain was still there, gnawing away at me from the inside, counting slowly down until it reached zero and I would stop.


	31. Chapter 30

10:54/M41/02-40.999/Nemesis Tessera/Nemesis System/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

 _You will be our eyes and ears_.

 _And so we shall_ , Anon Brightfire thought, smiling to himself, mulling over Izuru's words. Despite his growing respect and admiration for Izuru, he still harboured a trace of resentment against her for the misuse of his warriors as scouts rather than open-combat specialists. The Guardian's training covered little in knowledge gathering and observation which was what rangers were supposed to do. Flinging the Guardians out in a scattered formation was wholly against their doctrine.

 _Doctrine!_ A strict adherence to doctrine was a clear demonstration of tactical inflexibility. Now the Guardians, however resilient, were not without their weaknesses. But a rigid refusal to adapt their tactics to the current situation was not one of them. _We will do what is required of us_.

Anon produced a tiny metallic ball from his belt and, with the laziest flick of his wrist, tossed it up into the sky; _now be my eyes and ears._

At exactly one hundred feet up the surveillance device ceased climbing. The briefest moment before a clear, 360 degree view of the land flickered into existence before Anon's eyes.

 _Halt_ , he ordered. Immediately the eight Guardians, dotted at ten yard intervals across the rocky slopes of the hillside above the road, ceased movement and lowered their posture slowly.

The view from on high alleviated some of the strain that had been gnawing at Anon ever since they had fallen in with the humans. He was fully aware of and could feel every one of the Guardian's thoughts, his psyker's connection allowing quick and easy, non-verbal interaction with them. In each and every one he felt a passionate hatred of the Prey and in some a quaint loss of faith in the Ambassador. It was true Anon shared their loathing of humankind and had previously thought of little more than the primitives' extermination along with Chaos, the Greenskins and the Devourers. Now though, events beyond his control were manoeuvring the Eldar and the Imperium into positions where they needed each other's' help, much to his peoples' displeasure. The very notion of working with humans was enough to cause a major scandal on the craftworld and for heads to begin rolling.

Dispelling those private thoughts, Anon pressed the tiny bead in his ear and began to relay his discovery to Izuru. "Izuru, can you hear me?"

"You are workable. There is a lot of background noise here, apologies. What are your findings?"

"We find ourselves in a void. My observations pick up zero enemy activity in every direction, nothing is moving out here. Either we are far from the frontlines or the enemy has chosen to conceal their troops. Most odd."

"Indeed. Gratitude for knowledge shared. I shall inform the humans."

 _I would rather you didn't_ , Anon kept his mouth shut at that. Signalling to the statue-like Guardians, he ordered them onwards.

Keladi clung to the body of the big, smoke-belching metal beast and felt the wind whip through her hair. Underneath the bandage she felt her damaged eye constantly sending pain signals to her brain, causing her no end of discomfort. The hard surface added with constantly being jolted by the rough ride was slowly turning her stomach and threatening to make her sick. Her sole crumb of comfort was the heat rising from beneath the engine grill of which she sat on. The warmth, though in its own way uncomfortable, provided some solace from the falling snowflakes and the icy wind.

Brushing her hair from her face, Keladi looked up at Izuru who was standing upright as if unaffected by the cold with one hand resting on the ugly human weapon bolted to the tank's turret. _Does it not trouble her?_ She wondered, tightening her scarf around her neck. The thermally insulated black suit that would've normally been protected by Keladi's breastplate was now exposed to the elements. The wraithbone plate, sitting next to her helmet, was severely dented and now unwearable, as was her banshee mask.

Touching the tip of her nose, Keladi rubbed it vigorously in an attempt to restore some warmth to her face. The reek of fumes from the dirty engine roaring underneath her perch was making her feel queasy. It was so potent, the odour of whatever the humans used to fuel their vehicles. How could they stand to inhale it?

Izuru said something inaudible, a reply, and lowered herself into a sitting position beside Keladi. The terrific din was too loud to allow verbal communication Keladi realised when her words were snatched away. Aware of it, Izuru touched her temple and pointed to Keladi.

"Let us converse without words, young one," Izuru spoke in her mind to the other. "I know how you feel."

"You do not know how I feel," Keladi replied in an unexpectedly cold tone. It made Izuru pause for a moment.

"Today… back there, Keladi… that is what will happen every day from now on. It is _every_ _day_ from now on, child. Your eye, your armour, it is only the beginning."

"It cannot be saved, can it?"

"No."

"My ribs hurt," Keladi grasped her side where the pain was. "It wasn't meant to be like this."

"Why? What was it meant to be like?" Izuru regarded Keladi with curiosity. "What illusions did you have about war?"

"That I would not be wounded in my first action…" Keladi picked up her mask and ran a finger around the shattered lense. "Or have that which I would depend on rendered inoperable."

"This is what you should depend on," Izuru indicated her forehead, "to get you through alive, your heart too. In it burns the hate for your enemies but also the love for those that are dear to you. Always remember that the warrior is not merely an aggressive cutting-sword but a stalwart shield in defence of her peoples' lives. The enmity you wish to channel towards the humans – I can feel it inside you – will hurt you more than it will them. Seek inner peace, Keladi Lethidia. Let calmness flow like a river through your mind."

Tilting her head down, Keladi stared at her crossed legs underneath her. The command to seek a mental peace had always irritated her no matter how it was worded. In her constant restless, fidgety state it had been impossible for Keladi to find the so-called inner peace. Here, onboard the rattling, rumbling, mud-splattered tank, Keladi felt nought but misery.

"Speak, child. Does mind wander?"

Keladi sighed softly and looked up at the barren hillside that rose up on both sides of the road. "I wish I had backed out of this, slunk away and hid like a child would do."

"You wished? But you didn't, you are here, proving your worth."

"Does being shot prove your worth? I have done nothing but play the victim so far; hardly befitting a howling banshee."

"Well now that your eyes have been opened somewhat and a little light has been shed…"

"Today is the worst day of my life," Keladi replied. Her face, the sweet innocence that had lit it up brightly, had dulled.

"Again, it is every day from now on, Keladi. But I disagree with what you said. Today is the best day of your life because tomorrow you might be dead."

Keladi was silent. Her mental barriers began to harden, trying vainly to block Izuru out but was effortlessly brushed aside like a child would be in the face of an adult. Keladi awaited the expected reprieve only none came.

"Have you ever seen a burning Craftworld, have you?" Izuru asked suddenly. "It shines…"

"Alaitoc?"

"Lyanden, the place where I was born."

"Devourers?"

"An entire Hive Fleet fell upon us and, and they…"

" _Devoured_ ," Keladi said in a quiet voice. There was a slight tremble to it.

"In space they appear as a mess of tendrils, like a weed would have. Then they wind around what they wish to consume and slowly, slowly tighten, choking their prey's life out."

"You escaped?"

"My father and I fled Lyanden. I think my mother…" Izuru broke off and closed off the boundaries to her mind for a second.

"Your mother?" Keladi's mouth dropped. "Your mother was…"

"Human." Izuru rubbed her gauntleted hands and pressed them underneath her armpits. Looking sidelong at Keladi, she nodded, "my mother was human although you would've guessed that already – you're a smart girl, Keladi. It's the reason I look like this."

"But it's impossible… interbreeding is, is biologically impossible what with the difference in our DNA."

"You're a geneticist, I never would have guessed," Izuru's lip curled. Raising her hand, she pointed a finger at her face. "Then answer this: what am I?"

"I do not know."

"What am I?"

"I do not know – please, no more."

"Ah, the words of many a passer-by I can sense in your head. Even the human up there in his steel turret could see I was not what I seemed. It was right there on the tip of his tongue: _what the fuck are you?_ " Izuru stressed each syllable. "I am neither one nor the other, that is what I am, Keladi."

"Is that why you cut your hair off, because you were ashamed?" Keladi's eyes focused briefly on the locks of dark hair poking out from beneath Izuru's hood.

"I killed my bond-mate, because of this," Izuru looked at Keladi, her gaze cold and pitiless.

"I'm sorry, I apologise. You have my condolences"

"I don't need your condolences. I need you to listen."

"On the subject of familicide," Keladi began, waiting for Izuru's attention before continuing, "I killed my sister." Izuru said nothing and didn't even blink. "Calmainoc, the great flotilla, has ratruns, climbing spaces, walkways over chasms, drops you wouldn't believe. We raced each other, daily, from one end to the other. It caused no end to our parents worry. How they scolded us!" Keladi paused, searching for words, "but isn't that what you do when you are young, rebel against your parents' authority? We loved it, the freedom of being able to do what we wanted. I still believed nothing could touch us on the day I lost her."

"If you do not wish to—"

"—no, I have to say it, I am responsible for leading her, it was on me." Keladi licked her dry lips and inhaled slowly. She did not meet Izuru's eye. "It was a gap, not overly wide, not the widest certainly but still considerable. I went first, took a running jump but did not notice a commerce vessel leaving birth whose path I had strayed into – well I did notice to be honest. But I was invincible, so why wait for it to pass?" Keladi's hands were clenched tight and pressed inbetween her thighs. There was an awkward pause. "I was caught mid-air by the vessel. It spun me round and caused me to land badly on the platform where I fractured my skull and broke my collarbone. But it didn't hurt at first. I was more concerned with where my sister was. I looked back and she had simply disappeared. She wasn't with me and there was no sign of her on the opposite platform. I remember crawling over to the edge and looking at the endless drop below. I didn't understand, couldn't comprehend that she was gone; I was too young then. She had to have been playing a trick on me – of course it was all a trick and she was in hiding somewhere, ready to jump out and scare me for a laugh. But she didn't. And I never saw her again. It wasn't until I told my parents what had happened and they said I would never see her again that it hit me. I cried for days afterwards. I'm not sure I recovered fully because I would dream of her – I still do."

"No matter what we do, where we go, it seems tragedy always befalls our species," Izuru said quietly, resting a hand on Keladi's shoulder in consolation. "It is our fate."

"I was… I was born with a birth shroud around my head… I see things. Sometimes I know of events before they come to pass. People told me… confessions, bad things they did ever since I was little. But I didn't see my sister's death coming. I couldn't predict that."

"We all possess psyker traits, Keladi. Some have it more than others."

"I shall tell you what hurt me most. Because there was no body to recover, there was no Waystone to be added to the Infinity Circuit," Keladi swallowed and looked around at Izuru. "She will never be at peace."

"Everything you do, you do for her, is that right?"

"Becoming a banshee, coming out here, it is my punishment, my means of which to atone."

"I don't disagree," the corners of Izuru's mouth twitched. The girl was more than she had expected.

"The snow is warm," Keladi said. She stuck out her tongue and caught a snowflake on the tip. "Bleurgh," she spat it out. "The taste is strange."

"Curious."

Abruptly the noise died away as the tank slowed to a halt. Izuru rose and seized the .50 cal's spade grips. "Anon, what do your warriors see?" she asked.

"As before there is nothing, no one, why do you ask?"

"We've stopped."

"Yes, I can see you from where I am. You're about to leave the valley. It is nothing but dead ground beyond."

"Well I cannot see you…"

"Perhaps we've learned something: discretion?"

"Well put. Are we free to proceed?"

"Use caution, there may be anti-vehicle mines buried on or beside the road."

"Thank you, Autarch."

"Take care."

The tank commander was surveying the area ahead through his glasses as if unsure if it was safe to continue.

"Human," Izuru stepped around the turret and knelt on the hull. "My associates assure me it is safe to continue. The Chaos army has moved on from this area, there is nothing ahead."

"Thank you, Xeno, I'll bear that in mind. We'll proceed at our own pace."

"There is something in the air. It has a foul taste."

The human caught a handful of it in his hand. "Not snow, that's why."

Izuru stared in disbelief at the powdery substance falling from the sky, landing on her outstretched hand. It was grey and did not melt like snow would.

"It's ash."

* * *

The first indication the platoon received that something bad had happened was the ash that began to fall in place of the snow. To the dozen or so men hiding underneath a concrete overpass, this was not immediately clear.

The silence was broken when a strange yet jaunty tune came from the mouths of one of the mortarmen.

"What's that then?" Antti nodded at the curious, rectangular piece of shiny metal the mortarman was blowing on.

"Harmonica," he replied, the hand holding it fluttering. "They not have 'em on your farm? Guess not."

"Mind if I have a tinkle?" Erkki reached across his brother.

"You play?"

"Nah not really, just thought it'd shut you up."

"Oi, get out…" the mortarman sprang to his feet.

"Shove it!" Erkki rose, sensing a fight starting.

Corporal Antic, his moustache bristling, was there immediately to pry the two apart. "Bonk your heads on the wall, why don't you? Might knock some sense into your thick skulls."

"Easy, lads, there'll be plenty of Perfs to waste in due time, you'll get your confirmed kills," Sergeant Scherder patted Corporal Antic on the back and moved with care over to where I was squatting just under the edge of the road.

"Oi, Sarn't," I shook a dumping of ash that had fallen from the overpass above off of my hand. "Look at this."

Scherder rested the butt of his Lecta in the mush that passed for snow and stretched out his hand, "what is it?"

"Don't think this is snow, Sarn't, ash or something," I showed him the greyish powder.

"They're burning something, what…?" Scherder flicked the ash away lazily and pulled a folded map out of his breast pocket.

"Dunno, Sarn't. Whatever 'appened to that lad you took in? Y'know, the mute."

"He was with the company headquarters when they pulled out," Scherder said, unfolding the map. "Probably alright then, one less bod to worry about."

"Yeah, quite liked 'im, good lad."

"A few klicks on and we reach this town here."

"Town?" I sniffed and wiped my nose. "Shouldn't we be avoiding towns?"

"We do that it'll take months to get back to Mackie. We're going straight through, calm and confident. If we look like we're trying not to be noticed, they'll notice us, pin us down and bin us."

"So what, how we gonna pass for Perfs then?"

"We're not wearing insignia; we carry no ID or documents. We're just another band of defectors, they get those all the time, fireteams, sections, sometimes whole platoon's going rogue. We're no different from the next bunch, long as we keep moving and keep quiet."

"Hm, alright."

"Keep your lads in check," Scherder clapped me on the shoulder and turned away. "I'm sorry about Staf Kulich," he muttered.

I said nothing and kept my gaze outwards. I had no wish to be reminded of Staf. He was one more name I could instantly recollect, along with many others, all plaguing my conscience. I smoked a lot now, partly because of the warmth it leant my body, partly because it took my mind off the prick that had grown from a tiny needle in my chest to an irritating pain that hurt every time I took a breath.

"Come on, lads, it's a long march back to Mackie."

The track marks of Chaos tanks and PCs were still very much fresh on the road, cutting channels through the snow and muck in their relentless advance. The footprints too on both sides of the carriageway were made recently; in the last twenty-four hours that is. The Imperial vehicles that had made it beyond the shooting gallery, a few staff cars, Hennus' and a couple of the faster tracks had incurred the wrath of the Chaos vanguard and been systematically shoot to pieces before being shunted out of their way. The few personnel trying to escape on foot had been rounded up into groups, stripped and abused in the same way as the others had then shot in the back of the head.

"Never stood a chance did they?" Martti looked at the piles of bodies, aghast at the Chaos cruelty. "I mean, why?"

"Shut up, Martti," I said. "Keep yer eyes forwards. Better them than us."

"They're on our side!" Martti turned to look over his shoulder at me, horrified at how I could be so disdainful of our dead. "Little bit o' human decency, Larn. Remember Staf, how we left him behind?"

"Shut yer mouth, Private."

"I want to say a prayer for them."

"Pfft, suit yerself. Don't get left behind," I snorted, shaking my head. There was absolutely no point in bothering to pray for the dead. They couldn't hear and and wouldn't care.

Martti stepped out of the file and made for the nearest line of cadavers. " _God, my god_ …" he whispered as he moved through the rows of bodies of all those men and women, coldly, savagely tortured before execution. The sight of it was horribly nauseating and got deep under Martti's skin. Kneeling down, Martti sought the right words to say. "O eternal Emperor…" he began. Out of the corner of his eye something moved amongst the corpses. A hand belonging to a man whose face was deathly pale clawed at the snow. Martti saw the bloody hole in the eye socket and the remains of his eyeball dangling from a tiny thread of muscle. "Oh, god," Martti bent over and threw up on the ground. Wiping the yellow bile from his chin, he stared at the half-dead, naked soldier lying amongst the dead, pitifully thin and barely clinging to life. "Close your eyes," Martti took his hand and knelt over him. "You love the Emperor?" His question was answered by the tiniest of nods from the soldier. "Perfect, you're alright then. Let's pray together. O eternal Emperor, who alone watches us, and rules the tides and storms, be compassionate to your servants, preserve us from the perils of the warp, that we may be safeguarded from the domain of evil."

Throughout, the soldier's good eye was closed, his breathing calm. Martti let go of his hand, rose and removed his greatcoat then laid it over the soldier's body. Clasping his hand once more, Martti whispered in his ear, "bye, pal."

"Where the bloody hell have you been?" I hissed once Martti had caught us up.

"Found someone, he, he was still alive," Martti babbled.

"What d'ye bury him or something?"

"Hold a funeral, did you?" Vadim snorted something, a fine, powdery substance, and spat on the ground.

"Quiet, noise discipline from now on," Scherder glared at us from the point. "Town's coming up."

Three smokestacks, tall as the clouds, linked by dizzyingly precarious catwalks were the first landmarks to come into view. All had come under fire from Chaos artillery and air, the reason – well, they didn't really need a reason – to eliminate any observers or snipers. Though I think it was more the symbolic significance of Imperial infrastructure being brought down and the message sent through it.

"Cor, they really clobbered them, didn't they?" Stimm said, adjusting the straps of his vox set that were cutting into his shoulders.

"Ran right through 'em there," Tozar glassed the outskirts with his bulky nightscope. The few buildings remaining, the ones the tanks hadn't ploughed straight through, were three or four storey-high walls with their windows all blown out. Heaps of rubble, hundreds of feet high were filled with parts of statues, aquilas and other Imperial sigils, deliberately torn down and thrown in a pile. What else had been stacked up were bodies, lots of bodies; and they were burning them.

We marched straight past a group of masked Perfs who were heaving bodies on top of one another before adding them to the blaze. One of them, a Perf with round, black eyeholes in his leather mask was twirling a trench bat around on a loop. The spikes were sticky with gore and blood. "You lads are late to the party!" he shouted, continuing to twirl his club.

"Oh?" Scherder stuck a cigarette in his mouth and tossed the rest of the packet over to the Perf who caught it in one hand. "Took a wrong turn last night, it's a barren, featureless wasteland out there."

"Huh, could use a hand if yer not needed somewhere," the Perf said, glancing at the four masked men he was working with. "We're a bit understaffed."

"No thanks, Mack, we need to get to the front. Any idea where it is?"

"Err, west, some way, just – just follow the gunfire." The Perf lost interest in us when he noticed a not-quite-dead body try to crawl away.

"Where's he going?" another Perf laughed.

"Dunno, not very far like," the Perf with the trench bat seized the man's ankles and dragged him backwards. "Lights out," he raised his club above his head and swung it down. The result was hidden from our view by a pile of bodies. The Perfs hooted loudly and clapped as the dripping bat was held up high.

" _Goddamn bastards_ ," Erkki hissed through clenched teeth, swinging his stubber around by the carry handle to point at the Perfs.

" _Don't_ ," I shot him a death glare and only let him out from under my stare when he shifted the stubber in his grip and stopped aiming at the militia.

"Damn, didn't leave anything standing." Antic' feet trod on broken glass that was littering the street. The sides of buildings were all that was left for miles around, such was the intensity of the air and artillery strikes that there was not a single roof or floor remaining; just heaps of rubble forming natural mountains. And it was oddly quiet. It was the slight tremble in our hearts that reminded us of the fighting going on elsewhere on the planet.

Without word or signal, the platoon split into two and walked down opposite sides of the street, six of us on one side, seven on the other. Sergeant Scherder held up two fingers, pointing them at his eyes and circled them around the ground he was standing on; _watch for explosive devices_.

For a while there was only the crunch of glass, ferrocrete and brick underneath our boot heels indispersed with the soft jingle of ammunition belts and loose rounds in magazines. The whispering wind, ghosting through openings, blew soft flurries of snow across our path. The weak sun was past its zenith and was already dropping in the sky. Nothing moved.

Anxious eyes flitted left and right, up and down, looking for something. When that something came, it was unexpectedly in written form.

"Larn," Antti scooped up a piece of paper and showed it to me. There were scores of them lying around or being blown about in the wind.

"A careful study of the most scientific maps and instruments shows that our forces have you surrounded and outnumbered ten to one. As you read this, Imperial Guardsmen, a billion-strong army of tanks, men and other beings are pushing outwards to recapture the worlds in and around the Eye of Terror in order to free them from the iron grip of their imperial masters. These obnoxious, arrogant aristocrats care nothing for the fate of the common soldier and would see hundreds, if not thousands sacrificed if it would allow them one more day of living their soft, fat, decadent lifestyles. You have a choice, Imperial Guardsmen, to throw down your weapons and willingly accept the inevitable, or seize your chance with both hands to overthrow your masters. We ask you to join us, join us and free the galaxy from the choking vice that is the Imperium of Man that has ruled for ten thousand years too many. Only then, Imperial Guardsmen, will you know peace." Scrunching the paper up into a ball, I tossed it away and got to my feet.

"What d'ye think of that then?" Antti asked, falling in beside me.

"S'a load o' toss," I replied bluntly.

"Guess the Imperium's better then 'cause I wouldn't stake my chances with the Perfs."

"Nah, they're just as bad as the Perfs in their own way. Just don't be fooled s'all."

"What d'ye mean, we're just as bad?"

"They don't give a damn about us, the grunts, they honestly don't. We're just numbers, bullets, credits to be spent by some bureaucrat so he can climb a little higher on the ladder."

"Might ask for a transfer to the Perfs then," Antti replied, not really paying attention to what I had just said. "Sarn't!" he called softly, "I want a transfer to the Perfs."

Scherder, crouched on point, turned and looked Antti in the eye. "You want a transfer?"

"Yeah."

"Well then, you are transferred to the point," Scherder beckoned Antti forwards.

"Oh nice one, brother," Erkki tutted, "Ma will kill me if he gets himself hurt."

"Martti, give him the Lecta," I said.

"But it's my turn with it," Martti protested.

"Ssh! Antti, switch with Martti, c'mon, fast!"

The trade was made and Antti was now walking point. I was curious as to why Scherder, who'd always led, was now letting the vastly less-experienced Antti be on point. "Oi, Sarn't, y'alright?"

"Why?" he growled.

"'Cause yer letting Antti walk point. Could be snipers or mines about so why not use one o' the lads from 1 Platoon or one o' the tube men?"

"Can't show favouritism, besides, we need the 2-inch; can you operate it?"

"No."

"Well then, get back in formation."

"Look at him, he's gonna kill himself," Erkki fretted over his brother, advancing slowly forwards with his Lecta held in front of him.

"Ssh, c'mon, keep quiet," I waved at those behind me. "Move up!"

A structure nearly as high as one of the smokestacks came into view and grew taller the closer we drew. It was a cathedral and appeared to be formerly the most prominent building in town. But like with every other it had been subject to severe shelling, destroying everything but the wall closest to the altar, the four corner foundations and the rafters high in the sky. Even then the stained glass window, a piece of art fifty feet high and the same across, had been blown out, scattering green, red and blue glass everywhere.

"They spared no expense," a 1 Platoon man snorted. "Guess they wanted to flatten everything imperial; erase our marks"

"Bet they salted the ground too," his mate added.

"Don't need to," he knelt and dug up some scraps of earth. "The land's dead as it is."

"Ssh, c'mon lads, bit o' noise discipline," Corporal Rauer said quietly.

Antti, still on point, stopped and squatted at the mouth of the road we were on. It led out onto a wide plaza which, normally flat and clean, was now strewn with large chunks of stone from the cathedral's walls and roof.

"Why don't we go back, turn right and see if we can loop around without going through the square?" Antic suggested.

"Nah," Rauer shook his head. "Roads were blocked with rubble and barricades. We gotta go through that square."

"Martti, Erkki, cover us with the thirty from this corner," I whistled softly for them.

"Where they are…" Scherder peered around the corner and squinted at the cathedral. "They can't cover the very back of the cathedral where the altar is. A gun team would be in easy defilade there, protected from the flanks and rear. Then they've got the entire square covered but a few piles of rubble."

"Shall we set up a firing position?" I asked, holding up a hand to keep Martti and Erkki back.

"Deploy your stubber team here, I want them to provide cover for when we cross," Scherder said.

"Alright, lads, set 'er down," I vacated my spot. "Unfold the bipod, get the stock in yer shoulder, Martti, remember, five round bursts. Erkki, keep yer belt straight."

"Antti, you go first," Scherder pointed at a three-foot high mound of chewed-up paving slabs. "Make for that position, set up and cover us. We'll do this in twos and threes."

"Why me, Sarn't?" Antti stammered, his previous confidence gone.

"If there is a gun team in the cathedral they won't shoot at you, they're looking to draw a large bunch of us out of cover before they open fire. If they go for you we'll know and pull back."

"So we're walking into an ambush then?"

"That is one way to defeat an ambush," Scherder laughed, sounding slightly too hollow.

"They think that up at the Schola Progenium?" Tozar, covering the rear, said sarcastically.

"Go, Antti, I'll be along behind you," I grinned, altogether more sincere than Scherder was.

"Right behind me?" Antti's youthful face cracked into a smile.

"Right behind you."

"Okay, here we go," Antti tensed, drew back a pace then took off running. He finished beside the mound and crashed down behind the protective barrier.

"Hmph, well he's alright," Antic tapped me on the shoulder. "Go, Larn."

My pounding feet carried me over to Antti who was panting heavily and clutching his Lecta tightly to his chest. "Alright, lad," I stuck a fresh cigarette in my mouth and clamped down on it with my teeth to ease my thumping heart.

"Wow, who's next?" Antti looked at Scherder who was crouched beside Martti and Erkki's gun team. The sergeant was gesturing to us. "What's he want?"

"Oh shit, we gotta cover 'em now," I rose and aimed my LAR between the stone. Antti copied me and trained his Lecta on the far end of the cathedral. "See anything, muzzle flash?"

"No nothing."

"Maybe it's not occupied."

Muzzle flash, bright white, preceded a noise that sounded like a zipper. The sound was unfamiliar and deafeningly loud. So many rounds were suddenly flying over our heads and around us it felt like we were the target of an invisible hailstorm.

The shout of 'contact' I gave was lost to the noise, as was the cracks and rattle of our return fire. The single rifle and automatic did nothing to quell the hidden gun's fierce rate of fire.

"Hey!" someone, not Antti, was beside me, it was one of the men from Meinerz' platoon. "Teiss is down, he's over there, we gotta go get him!"

"What?" I hunkered back down into cover and glanced across at Antti. Both our ears were ringing.

"Jammed," he muttered, scrabbling to find purchase on the Lecta's cocking handle.

"Did you hear me, Teiss is down, I saw him fall," the 1 Platoon man tugged my arm.

"Larn, you alright?" Scherder called to me. I waved and gave thumbs up. A second burst whizzed perilously close by. Our gun team replied but had zero effect on the enemy weapon.

"Heads down, lad," I pulled the 1 Platoon man down beside me. "Who the hell'd put a gun nest in a cathedral?"

"Teiss he's…"

"Dead," I replied. All it took was the briefest glance to assert that Teiss was in fact dead. He was lying with his torso resting against a fountain and his head sitting at the bottom of it. Blood leaked from his severed neck, oozing down to drip into his dead eye sockets.

"What's yer name? I asked the frightened 1 Platoon man.

"Hoxha," he replied, gripping his rifle so tight his knuckles were white.

"Well, Hoxha, least yer not cold now," I laughed.

We were suddenly joined by Vadim who, despite quite clearly showing himself, was not fired on. "Thought you lads could use 'nother gun," he panted. I only now realised he had the worst lazy eye I had ever seen, worse than Erkki's. I couldn't resist this jibe.

"How is it you can see straight, let alone shoot wi' that eye?"

"Left eye dominant see?" Vadim lips drew back, showing, in firm contrast to Rauer, perfect white teeth.

"Perfect, yer a lefty," I reached out and shook his hand proudly. "Someone's gotta show the right-handers how it's done."

"Well I do do everything left-handed, all except shoot… and play with my pecker," Vadim added slyly.

"Err, you'll do. Right, me and Hoxha gonna go left, work our way up. Vadim, you and Antti give us cover. Once we're in cover we'll do the same wi' you, you go up the right, make sense?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, let's go."

Rising from cover, Vadim and Antti's Lecta fire grabbed the gun nest's attention whilst Hoxha and I scooted to the left. It worked. The odd zipper-gun was distracted perfectly, giving us the time to make the dash to the next scrap of cover.

"Y'alright there?" I asked Hoxha as we crouched behind another dumping of rubble.

"Uhh, f—fine, how 'bout you?"

"Heh, ready to give fire?"

"'Bout ready, yeah."

"Go!" I waved to Vadim and Antti who took off. Beside me, Hoxha's weapon dumped hot shell cases on me. He shouted something inaudible, lost to the noise and lowered his weapon. _Jammed again!_ I fumed, trying to compensate for our reduced rate of fire by pulling the LAR's trigger as fast as I could. Semi-automatic fire could only do so much to suppress the enemy weapon which continued to burst fire incessantly.

"Vadim's down!" Antti cried.

"What?!" I turned and saw Vadim lying motionless in the open. "Antti, drag him out!" The instant I said it the enemy gunner found Vadim and walked a burst up his body, physically picking him and throwing him backwards a few feet.

"Shit," I spat, pulling a grenade from my webbing. "Can you throw?" I asked Hoxha.

"Yeah."

"Good at sports?"

"Yeah."

"Great, 'cause I wasn't. Got a bloody awful throwing arm," I grunted, cutting through the black nasty I'd wrapped around the spool. "Here, toss it their way," I handed the bomb to Hoxha.

"'Kay ready," Hoxha pulled the pin and watched the fuse start to burn before drawing back his arm and hurling it in the nest's general direction.

"Shit," I got up and ran.

"No, please don't leave me!" Hoxha cried.

I didn't hear him. My ear picked up the dull crump of the fragmentation grenade going off in front of the nest but my eyes were on Vadim who wasn't moving. "C'mon, pal," I heaved him over into a small area protected from the buzz of the zipper.

"Bloody hammers…" Vadim wheezed.

"Yer alright, Vadim" I said encouragingly, propping him upright. "Antti, give us a field dressing."

"Heh, s'funny," Antti drawled as if half asleep. He was kneeling upright and had misplaced his weapon.

"Mama," Hoxha's high-pitched voice carried over the plaza to me.

"Antti, get me a dressing!" I ducked as gunfire passed overhead.

"…Never told you where I'm from," Vadim murmured.

"Oi, Hoxha stay down!" I could see the plan falling apart before my eyes.

"Mama!" Hoxha wailed.

Antti coughed once and lowered his head. I looked up from bandaging Vadim and saw a red mark on his breast. As the blood spread, I heard a gurgling sound and then nothing.

"Mama!" Hoxha stood up and took off his helmet. Leaving his rifle, he walked out of cover.

"HOXHA NO!"

They caught him in the stomach, zipping clean through his body and severing his upper and lower half. Hoxha died where he stood without ever seeing his mother again.

"Larn, is that your name?" Vadim whispered. "Don't leave."

I had no voice. My words were now expressed through my actions. I felt a deadly, icy calm grip me as I crawled forwards, clutching a grenade in one hand and my rifle in the other. My mind was shut off, forbidding any sentiment or any emotion from taking ahold of me then. The bullets flying around me were little nuisances.

When they stopped to reload, I armed the grenade, drew back my arm and hurled it upwards. The poorly-aimed throw was wide and had little force behind it. Frenzied shouting came from the occupants of the nest who either heard or saw the grenade land. I covered my ears and felt the tremor as the explosive went off, scattering dust and debris.

Once the smoke cleared, I drew my LAR bayonet and fixed it onto the muzzle. Inside me now burned a desire to kill, to rip apart, to maim, to shred material and flesh.

With ringing ears, I ran up to the altar, gathering speed, and vaulted over it into the sandbagged nest. The weapon, a water-cooled, unfamiliar stubber was now unmanned, its operators lying dead around it. I passed over two masked and helmeted Perfs who were clearly dead and settled on the last. This one had shrapnel wounds to the chest but was breathing. His helmet had fallen off leaving only the leather bag with the round eyeholes covering his face.

 _You did this, you bastard_. I got the bayonet underneath the mask and pulled it off. What was underneath was not what I had been expecting.

A girl with thick swathes of dark hair that fell out from underneath her mask lay looking up at me. Her face was angelic and shapely, her eyes as dark as the night sky, her face had sparkling, soft, creamy skin.

 _She was eighteen, shy and eager_ …

The very same girl I had fantasised about nearly six months ago on the ship that had taken me away from Bastille was real, real and in front of me, wounded and helpless. I stared, wide-eyed yet trembling with rage at Antti and Hoxha's killer.

"Help me," she lifted her outstretched hand past the wavering point of my bayonet and smiled sweetly. Her voice was smooth and had a seductive undertone to it.

I felt the fingers of my right hand slacken around the rifle's foregrip and budge a fraction. My hand was drawn to the girl who was somehow willing me to take hers.

 _Mama_ , Hoxha's pitiful moans, Antti's cough and Vadim's soft whispers made me stop and think. The girl held my gaze, her mouth half open, waiting for me to take her.

 _I'm sorry, lads_ , I saw their faces as I drove my bayonet hard into her forehead and then thrust deeper into her skull. Her expression changed to one of mild concern. She hadn't expected it to turn out that way.

Jamming the blade in, I saw the river of blood begin around the steel and run down her brow. Placing a boot on her chest, I pulled it out and stood, still and silent, looking down at the dead Perf.


	32. Chapter 31

15:16/M41/02-40.999/Nemesis Tessera/Nemesis System/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

The sun broke through the clouds. I stood out of the lights' rays, in the half dark of the nest, gazing down at the dead girl. I had a calm, strangely serene expression that did not at all suit the aftermath of the chaotic firefight. All the energy had flowed out of my system, leaving me drained. The pain from the wound in my chest returned, this time more potent than ever, nearly making me bend over double. I stuck a cigarette in my mouth and glanced up at the round gap in the cathedral's back wall where the stain glass window had been. The light did not shine through it, granting me its warmth and comfort, instead passing over me to the world beyond. Standing in the dim light, a sick, frail shadow, I felt myself slowly slipping into darkness.

Two olive grey blurs rushed past me as I stumbled away from the nest. Through my muffled hearing I dimly heard someone shout that there were three dead and it was all clear. More of the platoon then appeared, taking positions where they could, waving, shouting at me to take cover. Alone in my little bubble, my mind had taken leave of my body.

Sergeant Scherder was at my shoulder, patting me, offering words of appraisal that went in one ear and straight out of the other. Martti, his face full of concern, reached out to me. I shoved him aside as I saw Erkki.

Erkki sat cradling Antti's body tightly. Thin beams of light shone on them only to vanish when I approached. Crying silently, Erkki sung softly to his brother. The sight stirred up a horrible feeling of guilt inside me. First Staf, now Antti. This was not how it was meant to happen.

I had no words of comfort to offer, nothing to say that would help Erkki deal with his grief. I just laid a consoling hand on his shoulder and kept silent.

Hoxha, unable to prevent great quantities of his internal organs spilling out onto the ground, was dead. Vadim, despite being less serious, had also gone. No amount of bandages and reassurances could've prevented it. Both sets of disks recovered I handed to Scherder without word or comment. He said nothing but I could see, in his eyes, he was just as grief-stricken as I was.

"Take their weapons and ammo, anything we might need," Scherder said once we'd consolidated outside the cathedral. "Rauer, you know what to do with the bodies."

"Right, Cojen," Rauer nodded, baring his teeth.

"Whole town's gonna have heard that one," Tozar glanced around worriedly before glaring at me like it was my fault. "You get 'em with a grenade then, Larn?"

"Yeah," I looked up from where I was sitting beside Martti and Erkki and met Tozar's eye.

"Wasted 'em all, yeah?"

"Yeah," my voice strained to keep itself level as the unnatural warmth took ahold of me once more. The dislike I felt towards the Nerian was fast turning into an irrational hatred.

"Why'd you bayonet that bitch Perf?" Tozar fixed his eyes on the bloody bayonet still attached to the muzzle of my rifle. The others now turned their attention to me, with the exception of Antic who'd gone in with Tozar and seen the contents of the nest. "He ran his bayonet through her forehead," Tozar continued. "She weren't resisting – no, nothing of the sort. Killed her nonetheless, didn't ya?" I said nothing. Unfurling a dry cloth, I wiped the sticky blood from the blade and slid it back into its sheathe.

Tozar would not shut up. "We coulda had some fun with her," Tozar's eye flitted to Scherder. "N-not just for me, no, no, NCOs get first go then us private soldiers gets to play with her; everyone's happy. We coulda brought her along with us – get me? You had to bloody spoil it though, didn't ya?"

Tozar was halted mid-rant when Antic leant over his shoulder and whispered something in his ear. Despite being only a few words, it was enough to bring Tozar to heel and drain the colour from his face. I now regarded the NCO with interest and felt not a little gratitude for his intervention.

"Got the weapons," Rauer returned, delivering the two Lecta's Vadim and Antti had carried, along with their ammunition. "I rigged Hoxha."

"Now him," Scherder turned to Antti, lying alongside Vadim underneath a waterproof cape Erkki had covered them with.

"What, what are you doing?" Martti's ears pricked up.

"Sarn't?" I too had got wind of what was going on. The grenade in Rauer's hand was a clear indication he intended to booby-trap Antti's body.

"Prep them both," Scherder stepped back and ushered Rauer in.

"No, you can't, that's Erkki's brother," Martti leapt to Antti's defence. Erkki was sitting cross-legged over his brothers' body staring away into space. He hadn't said a single word.

"Oi, leave him," I stood with Martti in front of Antti and Vadim. "C'mon, just give him a moment."

"He's had lots of moments," Rauer spat on the ground inbetween my boots. "Now let his dearly departed brother continue his service to the Emperor," he lifted up the fragmentation grenade with his thumb through the ring. "Even in death he can still serve Him."

"Leave it alone, Corp," I said threateningly, refusing to back down.

Rauer pressed his face close to mine. He was several inches taller and had to tilt his head downward, in doing so pouring his foul-smelling breathe over me. "How 'bout I kill you both then do your brother? I'll sleep like a babe afterwards."

"Rauer," Scherder spoke finally. All it took was a single word coming from Scherder's mouth and Rauer retreated immediately. "Form your fireteam up, Larn, you too. We move now."

"You heard him," Antic chivvied the platoon along. "Chop-chop."

"We're moving, _now_ ," Scherder put emphasis on it, and rightly so. Not too far away there was shouting as Perfs across the town began to wake up to the sounds of the shooting. The ominous rattle of steel tracks – tanks were now roaming the streets by the sound of it – grew louder.

"Martti, take the thirty, we'll be along," I said. Erkki, Martti and I were the last to leave. Erkki had shut down completely and Martti wasn't moving without either of us.

"Corp…"

"Go on, go!"

"You be right behind me!" Martti scooped up the stubber and slung the strap over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, go!" I waved him away. Erkki I gripped by the shoulders and said, "we're gonna walk out of 'ere now. You are gonna follow me, make sense?"

Erkki swallowed hard and looked down at Antti before replying. "Yeah, yeah."

"Good lad," I handed him a Lecta and ammunition. "We're goin' in ten seconds so say what ye gotta say right now."

Bending downwards, Erkki kissed Antti's forehead and whispered to him. The words weren't for me so I shut my ears respectfully. Once he'd said his goodbyes, Erkki pulled the rain cape over Antti's face, stood up and helped me to my feet. "C'mon, Corp," he tried his best to smile. All he managed to do was contort his face in an awkward manner, more akin to a distressed frown.

"Cheers, lad," I stumbled at bit on rising but quickly steadied myself.

"You alright, Larn?" Erkki could see the paleness of my face underneath the shadow cast by my cover. "You're pale…"

"Nah, s'nothing. C'mon, mate, we're moving," I said tersely, brushing past him.

"What's that?" Erkki stopped and listened. "Popping…"

A volley of sharp pops, very faintly audible, could be heard in the distance.

"Bloody mortars! Go, Go!" I gripped him by the arm and pushed him onwards. "Splash in five seconds!" I guessed the batteries weren't too far away, lowering the time it took for the rounds to travel, all of them being now aimed at us.

The first shells landed in three seconds, exploding inside the gun nest, sending the stubber's ammunition up in a savage burst of greenish sparks that flew high up into the sky. The follow-up bombardment then proceeded to wipe the area clean, utterly plastering everything inside and outside the cathedral.

The shelling was unrelenting even when the platoon had put several streets between them and the cathedral. Now back on point, Scherder rose a clenched fist and halted us. We crouched by the side of the road, hugging any available cover, and waited.

"What's he doing?" Erkki asked, wondering why we had stopped.

"He's checking all's clear, keep our six covered," I said.

Scherder edged forwards, pressed himself against a broken wall and peered around it at the street beyond.

"Come on, let's get going," Erkki fidgeted impatiently, twisting himself to around to try and see what the rest the platoon were doing.

"Keep yer eyes to the rear, Private." I sternly reminded him to cover our rear and not to bother with anywhere else. The others were seeing that the other sectors were protected. "Don't hug the wall either."

"Why?"

"Something 'bout rounds travelling along the surface," I shrugged.

"You're not sure?"

"Course I'm sure, I'm the corporal," I tapped Erkki on the back to get him to move away from the wall. "Fer that matter, I'm certain. There, yer alright now."

 _Proceed_ , Scherder signalled, satisfied with his sweep.

" _Standby to move_ ," I whispered to Erkki. As he turned his head again, I raised two fingers and pointed them forwards; _keep us covered_.

"Sorry," he winced.

"Focus, lad."

An automatic barked. None of us were behind its sights however. The rattle of track links inbetween bursts and the trembling ground explained its origins.

"Back! Back!" Scherder screamed, waving at those behind to retreat the way we had come. It was not a moment too soon when a loud crash came from the invisible tank. A shell flew across the street where Scherder had been and exploded amidst a torn-up house. In the fumes of powder the smell of powdered masonry mingled.

"Larn, Erkki, hold here, we're going this way," Scherder aimed a fist down a street a little ahead and to the left of Erkki and I. "Martti, you, get the thirty down, cover us!"

"Right, Sarn't," Martti nodded, deploying his stubber to face the direction the tank was.

"Stimm, drop your blower, on me! Oi, tubes, leave your 2-inch here."

"Larn, keep this safe for me, would ya? S'our only link with HQ," Stimm shrugged off the straps holding the vox to his back and set it down gently between me and Erkki. The mortar team left the parts of their piece too.

"Fine, take care."

"Thank you!" Stimm made off.

"Martti, y'alright?" I called to him.

"Nah, Larn, I'm not," Martti raised his head to look over his feeder, the sole 1 Platoon man, at me.

"You hit?"

"I got an ulcer on my tongue."

"Ouch, sorry mate, yer outta luck there," I grinned, trying my best to keep the spirits of what remained of my fireteam up. "Who you got feeding there?"

Martti said something to his loader who replied in single syllables. "His name's Valero."

"Valero? Fine, yer Val now."

Valero said nothing, just straightened out the ammunition belt trailing up into the stubber's receiver.

"Come on, Sarn't, what ye doing?" I said anxiously. The platoon, now seven men, had run off down the street and was now out of sight. They had scarcely been gone for ten seconds before another automatic opened up, forcing them to respond. Then another, louder and with a slower rate of fire, reached our ears. It sounded like an autocannon, either 15 or 20 mm.

"Catchin' hell," Erkki muttered.

"Seems so," I replied woodenly. "Martti, see anything?"

"No contact. That tank hasn't showed itself yet."

Scherder came running back with the platoon. His Lecta's muzzle was trailing smoke. The other stubber Antic hauled with him smelt and had a faintly glowing barrel. Each man had a smoke-blackened face and now bore numerous cuts and scrapes.

"No good that way, more tanks," Scherder said calmly, without even the tiniest hint of panic.

"Wha' we do, Sarn't?" I glanced up at his dirtied face, hoping for a plan.

"Back the way we came? Could try the plaza again?" Stimm suggested, pulling the straps of his vox over his shoulders.

"Too many mortars, too little cover," Rauer spat brown phlegm on the ground as he yanked the drum from his Lecta and replaced it with a stick.

"Down there maybe, where Larn is?" Antic hopped over me, indicating a tight passage that led downwards through a gap that none of us had initially seen.

"Sarn't, that tank's coming up!" Martti shouted. "I can hear it!"

"No question, everyone move!" Scherder gathered us up and pushed us off the street.

"C'mon, Martti, we'll cover you," I waved at him. "On the double!"

Martti's face twisted, feeling the weight of the weapon put him off-balance. "Val, grab the barrels and ammo."

"Lively now," I said nonchalantly as Martti and Val ran behind Erkki and then ducked down into the passage.

"Our turn?" Erkki looked at me expectantly.

"Alright, off ye go," I smiled. For one reason or another I felt an intense enjoyment, never before feeling so alive. This was the most fun I'd ever had in my entire life.

A warren of tiny alleyways tight with sharp corners and near-lightless passages that were wet underfoot and smelt strongly of damp we what we now found ourselves in. The goings-on nearby grew quieter the further we delved into the maze. Soon even the unsettling tremor of the tanks died away. Once more it was eerily quiet.

"What is it?" I paused as Erkki, I front of me, stopped halfway down a narrow squeeze of a street so tight he had to remove his pack and squeeze through sideways.

"Don't know," Erkki grunted. His helmet was inches from dragging along the walls, making it impossible for him to turn his head around. "We've stopped."

"Why?" I took a cautious look back down the path we had come from, nervous of the Perfs suddenly happening upon us. I was the only one not either wedged in the passage or somewhere beyond, effectively isolating me from the rest of the platoon. It would be down to me to protect our vulnerable rear as I was the only one able to fire.

"Don't know," Erkki sidled further away and grabbed the next man along. A funny game then took off with Erkki's words passing from mouth to mouth until it presumably reached Scherder. A reply was then carried back down towards Erkki until it reached his ears and he passed it onto me. "We're nearly out into the open but there's a tank in the street next to us and some infantry guarding it…" Erkki said to me, louder than expected. It was an awkward compromise as he couldn't turn around to address me.

"Ssh! I can hear ye fine!" I hissed at him. "Keep it down."

"No, scratch that, an SP, not a tank."

"Big bloody difference," I said, more to myself than anyone else.

"We're gonna wait for it to move on."

"That could be hours!" I seethed. Spending the rest of the day in the dark, cold alleyway didn't appeal to me in the slightest. The light from the thin, uneven line of pinkish-grey sky above my head was already starting to fade. Soon dusk would give way to night.

Crouching beside the opening, I covered the corner of the passageway as best I could. Being trapped in such tight, claustrophobic confines set my teeth on edge and made me shiver. The frequent coming and going of the warmth now made me suspect I had the beginnings of a fever.

" _Come on, stay with it_ ," I whispered, wiping my damp brow with the back of my hand. Gulping down a mouthful of arse-water, I took down a few of my precious biscuits from a half-empty packet, precious few of which were left. And that was it. Once they were gone I had nothing to eat.

I heard shuffling and the sound of clothing rubbing along a rough surface. Erkki reappeared, kicking his pack out from the gap.

"Mate," I offered him a biscuit. Erkki took it with the subtlest of nods. "Sorry…"

"Nah, don't," Erkki munched on the biscuit, keeping his eyes unfocused. "Don't wanna hear it."

I felt I should've said something, anything, after all Antti was in my fireteam therefore my responsibility. But I had nothing, no moving speech to give, no sincere apology. The realisation that I could no longer empathise with the grieving Erkki was unsettling. That and how I got a kick from combat was also a little disturbing. It made me ask myself a question that had been nagging at me for quite a while now: _what am I becoming?_

"That drain cover just moved," Erkki said suddenly.

"What?" There was no drainage cover in the street, what was he barking about?

"There – no that definitely moved!" Erkki got to his feet and picked up his Lecta.

"Bloody hell, you got good eyes," I said, at last working out where the iron-grey, inch-thick circle was. How the hell had Erkki seen that? " _Oi, lads!_ " I hissed as loudly as I dared at the dark shapes down the alley. " _Someone's coming from below!_ "

"Watch it," Erkki covered me. Slinging my rifle, I popped the flap of the holster at my waist and drew my pistol.

"Need a hand here!" I called softly as the heavy steel cover was pushed upwards and to the side.

"He's got something in his hand!" Erkki exclaimed.

"Fuck!" I flicked the pistol's safety off. Another metallic click was heard as Erkki prepared his weapon to fire.

"For the Emperor!" someone's voice, high-pitched and full of fear, sounded.

Erkki and I glanced at one another, stunned, for a moment. It was Erkki who replied, "Emperor protects."

"Ha, I knew you were Imperial Guard!" A civilian, dirty-faced and unshaven, was perched on a set of dripping rungs leading downwards. "Thank the Emperor for that."

"Oh fuck," I gasped out of sheer relief.

"Gave us scare, you did," Erkki raised his rifle up away from the civilian. "Thought you were Perfs."

"Likewise, for a second that is."

"What ye doin' down there?" I asked suspiciously, kneeling in front of the civvy. "Oi, answer me."

"We hid there when they came."

"Who's we?" Sergeant Scherder had been summoned. He squeezed his body out from between the walls and came over to us.

"Most of the people who live here, we are all down in the sewers," the civilian replied. "If you want to live, come down here, there's food and shelter."

"Trite bollocks," Rauer's voice was heard.

Scherder knelt by the hole, setting the civilian with a steely-eyed glare. "You, go down first. We'll be right behind you. Larn, if he tries anything you have authorisation to shoot him."

"My pleasure," I said.

Martti, stunned, touched me on the arm, "you should hear yourself…"

"Shut up, Private," I snapped.

"After the civvy, Larn, we'll be right behind you," Scherder took the LAR from my shoulder.

"Got it."

"Leave your rifle here."

"Hello, Larn is it? I'm Roland," the civvy stretched out a hand.

Mistrustful, I clicked my pistol's safety to 'fire' and pointed it at him. "If this is bollocks, you die first."

"Yes, yes," Roland said quickly, now apparently fearing for his life.

"Go on," I motioned for him to descend the ladder to let me on.

"Careful, pal," Martti said, a worried expression on his face.

"Take care, son," Antic nodded at me, his eyes twinkling.

Step by step, I left the light and clambered down into darkness.

* * *

"We were not expecting the relief to come so soon," Roland said from below me. "The Imperial Guard left so suddenly. We heard the retreat was difficult but casualties were light."

 _Lies_ , I thought, _lies spun by the Imperium, trying to keep the civvies in line, refusing to tell them the truth. How could he believe such crap?_

"We were told it was a small-scale spoiling raid and to stay at our workstations. It wasn't until the Chaos artillery began to fall that it became clear they lied to us to keep us working. With no Guard, no law enforcement left, order broke down. Most of us fled into the sewers, some of us stayed on the surface, tried to flee but did not get far. I do not know how they fared. I've been down here ever since."

"How many are there down 'ere?" I blinked in the blackness, waiting for my eyes to adjust. I sensed the narrow pipe we were climbing down widen out.

"At least a few thousand men, women and children," Roland replied, "the Chaos hordes have not found us, thank the Emperor for that!"

Reaching the bottom of the rungs, Roland stepped back and waited for me to join him. I kept my sidearm trained, pointing it at him underneath my right armpit as I made the last few rungs.

"There," Roland said, satisfied, once my boots were on the ground. I wasn't satisfied however. Keeping him covered, I spun him around, kicked him behind the left knee and got my right arm around his windpipe, pressing down hard.

"Tell yer friends to come out, no weapons," I snarled. "Do it!"

"It's alright, he's Imperial Guard, I think…" Roland said, not to me, but to whoever was hiding somewhere in the tunnel.

"Larn, trouble?" Scherder's boots were on the rungs.

"Get down 'ere, Sarn't!" I tightened my hold. "Who's out there?"

"Just people," Roland gurgled. "Can't breathe."

"Where?" Scherder dropped down the last few rungs and unslung his Lecta.

"S'alright, come out, they're friendly."

"All of you, down here on the double!" Scherder called upwards to the others climbing down to us. "Tell your people to come out with their hands up!"

"Come out, they don't mean us harm," Roland choked.

"Let him go, Larn," Scherder ordered curtly.

I forced Roland against the wall, "hands on the wall, spread yer feet out!"

"Trouble?" Rauer came down next.

"Dev, Arno, Mace, come forwards. It's the Imperial Guard," Roland called.

As my eyes adjusted I became aware of three men moving towards us. In their hands were short knives and handmade shivs.

"No weapons," Scherder commanded. "We see weapons we shoot."

"Do as he says."

A clink of metal on stone as weapons were laid on the floor. "Roland?" someone said. "I'm lighting a flare."

A puff followed by a hiss and bright red light illuminated the tunnel. Three men stood with hands raised, one of them holding a burning flare. "Roland, you alright?"

"Fine, I'm fine. I did not expect such a rough greeting is all. Can I go now?"

"Larn, let him go."

"Go on, civvy," I pulled him away from the wall and thrust him over to his friends.

"You lads alright up there?" Rauer peered upwards at the small circle of light.

"Yep, just bringing down the stubbers," someone, Antic said.

"It clear on the surface?"

"All clear still."

"Tozar, glass the tunnel for us," Scherder said as Tozar joined us.

"Right, Sarn't," Tozar removed the covers from his nightscope and aimed it down the tunnel. "I can see four pricks down that way, nothing the other way."

"Oi, take the thirty, would ya?" Antic eased the stubber downwards. "Other one's coming shortly."

With the weapons lowered safely, the rest of the platoon made the climb. Erkki, the last, dragged the cover back over the hole, shutting out all daylight.

"Is this it?" Roland's face fell on seeing how thin our number was.

"Eleven of us, all there is," Scherder said solemnly.

"You're not the relief…?"

"We were left behind during the retreat."

"Merciful Emperor, it is worse than we thought," Roland muttered. "Come with us."

By the light of flares and a few handheld torches, we followed Roland and his people further into the sewers. It was chilly, enough for our breath to come out white. The drip-drip sound of water falling from overhead pipes made loud noises when it landed on the damp stone. The faintest echo of low voices bounced off of the circular walls.

Scherder, brief and blunt, made it clear his intentions to Roland. "We must get back to Camp Macharius as quickly as possible, is there a route out of these tunnels?"

"B-but, Macharius is overrun," Roland stammered.

"What, how do you know this?" Scherder said sharply.

"There are many who have jobs there. When the base fell under threat they fled and returned to their homes. A lot came back here but, with the Chaos tanks roving the streets, they had to seek shelter with us underground."

"But what of our forces, where have they gone?"

"From what little information we have, the Imperial Guard has or is retreating to Karamaya, the capital, by the coast, or maybe even further than that to Fort Sturnn; I do not know."

"Well that's just great, innit? Fuckin' terrific," Tozar kicked the wall beside him in anger. "Whole thing was fucked from the start."

"Tozar?" Rauer rounded on him.

"Yes, mate?"

"Shut up."

Around a bend in the tunnel a speck of light became visible, slowly growing larger and larger the closer we drew. It was coming from a large chamber where six or seven drainage tunnels converged. Crowding the sides of the tunnels, on the floor, on walkways above, were people, hundreds of people.

"There is no heating and little food, but it is safe from the touch of Chaos, for now at least," Roland said, leading us past rows of civilians mostly hidden underneath blankets with only their heads and feet poking out. The sheer volume of bodies covered nearly every square inch of surface, enough for the main chamber's floor to be invisible. But still there wasn't enough space. From above, legs dangled off of catwalks and people perched on precarious ledges or sat inside narrow tunnels far above the main floor.

"Blimey," Erkki muttered. "So how come you haven't been found?"

"The Chaos troops aren't interested in coming down here, well it is either that or they simply cannot afford to waste time and men combing the sewers. Though admittedly the complex is quite vast and would take weeks to clear. It is also only navigable by a few who know how."

"And do ye?" I asked.

"Of course, I helped build it."

"A bloody plumber," I said in an undertone to Erkki who snorted.

"Then you can show us the quickest route westwards," Scherder said. "One that gets us clear of the town."

"Of course, but…" Roland lowered his voice. "But what of us?"

"Nothing doing, you're thousands, we're just a dozen men, can't even protect ourselves."

"You're Imperial Guard! You have a duty to protect civilians."

"Which under these particular circumstances is impossible to do," Scherder said evenly. "We cannot help you."

"I'm very sorry to hear that."

Our party moved around the perimeter of the main chamber and continued through another three that were equally packed. The recognisable smell was firmly imprinted in my brain, the reek of many human bodies in close proximity to one another; the smell of Broucheroc. There was little noise or rather there had been little noise. Whatever quiet conversations had taken place ceased when we went by. The groups of civilians regarded us with fear and in a few cases, outright hostility. Evidently general opinion of the Imperial Guard was quite low with them.

"We'll stop here," Scherder decided, halting the dozen of us when we were a short distance down the tunnel from the nearest sleeping civilians. "We'll need a map," he said to Roland.

"No need, I'll guide you to the westernmost culvert."

"Nothing doing, I don't trust you."

Roland shrugged, "before the invasion, I had a wife, two sisters and a daughter."

"Doesn't mean anything, you might be lying."

"Look at all those people back there!" Roland stepped towards Scherder, a sudden vehemence in his voice. Rauer aimed reflexively at him but Scherder held up a hand. Roland continued, "Families, women, children, every one of them scared that today will be their last day. The Imperial Guard makes an appearance and all you do is walk on by, damning us. Does that not rankle you, to have your conscience weighed down by such a selfish deed?"

It was Scherder's turn to speak sharply, "you believe me now, if there were any other options I would at least consider them but there aren't. The deck is stacked too unevenly. We cannot support you and you would only slow us down. Besides none of you are trained or even armed. It cannot work."

"A gambler…" Roland's surprised eyes passed between our faces. He raised a finger and pointed at the sergeant, "just a roll of the dice to you, is it?"

"Simple statistics," Scherder replied coldly.

"Hmph, you will need a map," Roland muttered, taking his leave.

The platoon settled down to rest. Martti laid his stubber beside himself and stretched out on his bedroll. His head had rested on his pack for little more than five seconds before he was asleep.

"Nighty-night," Erkki, sitting opposite him, said.

"Wish it was that easy," I coughed, pulling off my cover and feeling my greasy, sweaty hair. Self-consciously I laid a hand on my jacket beneath my unzipped flak vest where my wound was. "Erkki, about the cathedral…"

"Nah, it's alright, I don't want to know. All I know is it weren't your fault, Larn. You were doing exactly what you were supposed to be doing; leading Antti. Staf weren't your fault either."

"Mm," I shifted on the hard stones and tucked my pack further beneath my head, searching for a more comfortable position. "I got the one who got him."

"That thing 'bout… it was girl wasn't it, the one behind the sights?"

"Yeah," I croaked.

"Dunno whether I could've done that, knowing it weren't a bloke."

"Nah."

"He's at peace now, s'all that matters."

"Yeah, guess he is."

We slipped into silence. I was reluctant to try and sleep for fear I wouldn't wake up, knowing the fever that was taking ahold. Erkki was far too wide awake to even remotely try snoozing.

"So what's your story then, Larn?"

"Hmm?" I opened my eyelids a crack. The exhaustion had dulled my senses and turned them sluggish. Lying with my back on the floor with no mattress or proper pillow, I felt like I was on a feather bed and would drop off at any point. Right now talking was all that was keeping me awake.

"You're not from Nereus, s'what I can tell."

"Nah, nah, I'm not," I propped myself up on my elbows and looked over at Erkki.

"Well then?"

"My name's Arvin James Larn, used to be 1 Jumael of 14th Jumael Volunteers."

"Arvin?" Erkki frowned.

"Yeah s'a pretty bad name me parents gave me. Never forgave 'em for it 'cause o' that. James ain't too bad though."

"You prefer it?"

"Yeah."

"Jumael don't spring to mind…"

"Doesn't ring a bell, does it? Bit of a backwater mind you, nice summers, cold winters, wet springs. Don't get too much snow where I am but I tell ye, when it does it's a pretty special day so it is."

"Nereus gets snow all the time, used to love it but it got boring after a while."

"Where ye live, big city?"

"Me and Antti, always out in the country but not too far from town case we needed anything."

"I'm in the country too, Jumael's mostly countryside with some mountains and oceans, got some good sights. Me mum and dad have a farm."

"We were on one too – well we lived very close to a set of old barns that had been repurposed into houses, nice and comfy with plenty of space they were."

"D'you have a community there sort of?"

"About a hundred people living there most of who, honestly, we didn't really like. I mean there weren't nothing horribly wrong with them just a few little things."

"Such as?"

"Badly behaved children, not gonna name everything."

"Heh, you had fun though."

"Yeah, good fun."

"Down my way, little walk from the house there was a big 'ole tree looking over a river. And there was a swing there, a rope swing someone had made, huge fun that was swinging out over the river, bloody brilliant."

"You got a brother?"

"Nah."

"Sister?"

"Nah."

"Who'd you play with then?"

"No one."

"Tough break."

"Didn't really care. Was still a lad when the Guard came knocking. I never even got with someone, yer one step ahead o' me on that one."

Erkki fidgeted, "about that stuff, back in the billet… well it was all bollocks, me, Antti, we hadn't got any action at all. I was just making it up 'cause I thought you were a cunt; sorry."

"I am a cunt, just a cunt with two stripes."

"Can I, well it's just we, we can't help hear you 'cause you talk in your sleep a lot."

I suddenly became wary and on my guard. "Do I?"

"Yeah 'fraid so. Now there's nothing wrong with it, not at all, only I was wondering why you keep saying certain names over and over. Who's Stazak?"

"Me section leader when I was in the Alderians for a bit. Ole Stazak then got bunked up to platoon sarn't. He taught me a lot, showed me the ropes when I got my first stripe."

"Who's Doron? You keep saying something 'bout him."

"Officer in my old unit that got himself wasted," I said, albeit reluctantly. I hated revisiting that memory.

"Sorry, I'm not, it's 'cause you say 'em over and over again, just wondered who Izuru is."

At that name I sat bolt upright and glanced around fearfully, all drowsiness gone. " _Who knows?_ " I whispered urgently.

"Only us lads, me and Martti. You kept your voice low most of the time."

Sighing with relief, I clasped the edges of my flak together over my jacket.

"Well who is she?"

"What makes ye think it's a she?"

"Name begins with I surely it's gotta be a girl. What man names beginning with I are there?" Erkki mumbled away, ticking off his fingers, "Isaac, Isaiah, uhh…"

"S'not what ye think."

"I thought you said you didn't get any action. You holding out on me, Corporal?"

"Oi look, it's not what ye think. On Grendel I got mixed up with some business I shouldn't 'ave been mixed up in. You know what Stickies are?"

"Yeah, think so, s'posed to look all angelic and pretty like. But all of 'em uppity sonsabitches."

"There was this one Stickie who was against these other Stickies 'cause they 'ad her children and, long story short, a lotta people died rescuing these two Stickie lads."

"And this Stickie, Izuru, you helped her rescue her children?"

"Mm, sorta, yeah."

"Cor, bet she was all over you after that. Did she really look all angel-like?"

"Pfft, she weren't what I was expecting honestly. She had human blood in her, it turns out, so she's sorta a half-breed, explained her feud with the other Stickies."

"And did you? Did you and her…?" Erkki mimed a hand intertwining. "Unless…" his face twisted as he looked up at the ceiling. "…Is that heresy?"

I wasn't saying anything more on the subject. The sole act of talking had made me feel faint so I rolled on my side and shut my eyes.

* * *

It might have been five minutes or five hours later when I awoke with the warmth gripping me. I had occupied a peculiar void between asleep and fully awake so much that I felt just as exhausted as before. Groaning I sat upright, nursing stiff and sore muscles that trembled from the unexpected movement. Without a reflection I could not see my colour-drained, sickly face and the bags underneath my eyes. But perhaps that was for the better.

 _You need a medic_ my mind said soothingly, _perhaps even a surgeon_.

I did not doubt that unless I received something close to medical aid, I would be hard pressed to keep up with the others on the journey back to Camp Macharius, which, going by the news of the camp's abandonment, meant we now had an even bigger journey ahead. I had next to no idea where Karamaya was just that it was on the western edge of the continent, or whether I would make it that far.

 _Maybe I won't but they will._ I gazed at Martti and Erkki fondly. Even if I fell along the way I would make sure my pals wouldn't. The promise I made to them, though already partly-broken, I intended to try and salvage. They would live, they deserved to.

My lungs burned when I coughed, my throat was dry as sandpaper, for it I drank the few drops left of my arse-water and finished my last packet of compo.

" _Help her_."

The empty packet tumbled from my hand as a voice whispered to me. Looking round in alarm for the source of the noise, I was dismayed to see everyone still asleep.

" _Erkki? Martti?_ " both lay undisturbed.

" _You must hurry_."

Squeezing my eyes shut, I opened them and peered away down the tunnel leading away from the main chamber. Two golden pinpricks of light, a pair eyes, hovered there watching me.

"Izuru?" I struggled to get up, holding onto the wall for support, my head awash with dizziness. "Wait," I stumbled up the tunnel which seemed to elongate, lengthening the distance between me and the pair of eyes which darted away around a corner.

" _Danger_."

"What, Perfs?" I was instantly alert. Drawing my stub pistol, I flattened myself against the wall and listened.

" _Help her, she is in danger_."

"Who, who is she?" I spun round, trying to work out where Izuru's voice was coming from. It was everywhere, echoing up and down the tunnel, distant, bodiless. Then my ears picked up something new, a low moaning; a male voice. It was unfamiliar and did not sound like the moans of a wounded man, rather of pleasure.

Rounding a corner I saw a soldier, one of us, standing with his back to me, feet apart and head tilted back. Someone, a woman, was kneeling before him. The closer I crept the clearer things became. A rifle, leant against the tunnel wall caught my eye. Mounted on it was a nightsight.

 _Tozar._

The sight of Tozar forcing himself on a civilian stirred up a feeling of revulsion in me. Disgusted to the core, I hooked my finger around my pistol's trigger and aimed it at the back of his head.

"Tozar, you bastard!" I spat, shooting spittle onto his neck. "You let her go, right now!"

A knife appeared in his right hand. Held in a backwards grip, it travelled around towards my face. Before it got anywhere near me, Tozar gave a high-pitched scream and collapsed onto his knees. The woman's teeth had sunk deep into his penis, biting it off, causing a stream of blood to run down his trousers. Scrambling away from the pain-maddened Tozar, she spat the piece of flesh and muscle out, crying loudly.

"You had this coming…" I smacked him in the side of the head with my pistol's barrel and slammed his quivering body against the stone. "SERGEANT!" I cried.

The sound of running feet filled the nearby tunnel, the cries of Martti and Erkki along with the others carried over to me. "Larn, where are you?"

"Sarn't, down here!"

"James, what happened?" Erkki was the first to find me.

"We thought it was Perfs," Martti gasped. His dim face turned a nasty shade when he saw Tozar.

"What the hell…?" Erkki clapped a hand over his mouth in horror.

"He didn't…"

Scherder pushed through the gathering crowd and stopped before Tozar, lying in a pathetic heap. "Oh, Tozar," he breathed venomously, "you stupid, stupid fool."

"Found Private Tozar raping the woman, Sarn't," I said mechanically, stuffing my pistol back into its holster. "Had to intervene, Sarn't. Tozar drew a knife on me when I did. If it weren't for the civilian's action, I'd 'ave a blade in me neck."

"Martti, see to her," Scherder snapped, "the rest of you, away!"

I turned to leave, still seething at the cruel, animalistic way the rapist had treated the poor woman, forcing her to kneel before him in submission like that. It made me feel physically sick.

"Larn," Scherder beckoned.

"Sarn't," I walked over and heaved up as much as I could over Tozar, he deserved everything and more. Straightening up, I wiped my mouth on the back of my sleeve, "sorry, Sarn't, I tripped."

"Be more careful next time," Scherder took the bawling Tozar underneath one armpit and waved at me to take the other. "The private's rifle, he won't be needing it anymore."

"Yeah," I got the heavy LAR by the sling and pulled it onto my shoulder. "Martti, how's the girl doing?"

Martti looked up from where he was sitting beside the woman, gently dabbing at her mouth with a cloth. "She's traumatised, what d'you expect," he said resentfully. "You bloody animals, call yourself soldiers?"

"That weren't us, Martti, just one horrible bastard who deserved it!" I retorted.

"You too, Larn, you're becoming just like them, maybe worse," Martti sprang to his feet angrily. "What's wrong with you?"

"Larn, let's go," Scherder steered the limp Tozar away, pulling me along with him.

"Where we taking him?" I grunted, flagging under the considerable weight.

"The private is a criminal, guilty of sexually abusing a civilian and therefore must stand trial in a court of justice. But given the current circumstances I believe a field punishment must suffice."

I worked out what sort of 'field punishment' Scherder had in mind when he shoved open a door leading inside a tightly-packed room lit by an overhead bulb. Nearly every single person sitting or lying down was female. It was something Scherder had deliberately chosen by the look of it.

"Pay your debts," Scherder said when he dumped Tozar in the middle of the floor and left him there. Standing in the open doorway, I felt a grim satisfaction seeing Tozar slowly surrounded by dozens of women who could tell what he was there for and wanted to exact revenge.

Scherder slammed the door right before Tozar was swamped by a storm of fists and feet. His muffled, high-pitched screams could still be heard.

"Come, Larn, we are leaving."

"Sarn't," I fell in beside him and said nothing more.

Either Roland had stopped by or a map had been procured elsewhere as we hastily departed the civilian bivouac without a word which was, in all likelihood, for the best. News of an Imperial Guardsman raping a woman would spread like a plague which would wear out our welcome faster than we could protest; that is if we were ever welcome in the first place.

Hitching Tozar's bulky LAR higher my shoulder, I tried not to listen to the insults whispered or spoken aloud to us as we marched past the aggrieved civilians and off into the darkness.


	33. Chapter 32

10:34/M41/03-40.999/Nemesis Tessera/Nemesis System/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

Feet frozen, sore legs aching, Keladi trudged alongside the rattling tank with her head bowed against the thin flurries of snow falling from the overcast sky.

It was now mid-morning, going from the sun's position which for days had been constantly hidden behind the clouds. With her mask's internal database and heads-up display gone all Keladi had was dead reckoning. It was something she had taken for granted – the superior technology in her possession. But, left with only her sword and her half-ruined armour, she felt naked and vulnerable. Her eye she refrained from touching, being forbidden to by Izuru. Like a mother with a young child, Izuru had fussed over her, removing the bandage where the blood had crystallised and replacing it with a fresh one. It had been the previous night, during a brief halt in a ruined building where Keladi had asked the question.

"Would it be possible to…?" Keladi began, biting on the inside of her mouth at a tingle of pain in her eye.

"Speak," Izuru finished tying the bandage off and sat back against the opposite wall. "You have nothing to fear."

"I would seek your counsel for I wish to renounce the path of the banshee and take up the mantle of ranger, with your guidance that is…"

"Think carefully before tongue wags, child, you are making a very big decision, one that will be life-changing," Izuru replied. "Why now, before you have committed yourself to fully embracing the path of the warrior?

Keladi's shoulders sunk. She chewed on her lip and meshed her fingers together. When she chose to speak, she did not meet the others' eye. "I find myself understanding more and more of the true nature of war and how naïve I was before I came here. You were right, Izuru, it is not pretty, nor is there any glory to be had in it," Keladi's eye began to weep. Pressing a hand to her face she smiled tearfully. "I find it disturbing that laughter does not come so easily to me now, because of this. It takes away a part of you, one that will forever remain lost, never to be rediscovered."

"That is the nature of war, Keladi. It takes, always it takes, never gives," Izuru said remorsefully. "That which you were before shall give way to a new soul, rising from the battlefield, sword in hand, stained with the blood of your enemies."

"It is why I do not believe I can be a banshee." Keladi's remaining eye stared out from underneath the bandage at Izuru.

"Why?"

"I do not wish death on any living thing. I cannot kill."

"And for this reason you would give up your chosen path? Keladi, whether banshee or ranger you will be called upon to take lives in the defence of your people; it cannot be avoided. Though a ranger's task is to observe they still have to take their shots… and they have to mean it. _You_ have to mean it, Keladi."

"Does it become easier after the first?"

Izuru remained in silence for a moment. "In time you will not see what you are aiming at for it is just a target with nothing, no brain, no heart, no soul."

"But does it become easier?"

Izuru nodded seriously, "yes."

Keladi shivered, even wearing the rain-cape Izuru had acquired for her, she was still cold. The waterproof material did not insulate but kept the wet snowflakes from soaking into the uncovered patches of her bodysuit. It was still a far cry from the relative comfort of being encased in full armour as she was accustomed to.

Drawing the collar of her cape around her neck, Keladi glanced behind at the tank and the human high up in the turret. Leaning on the turret hatch ring the human looked exhausted. The gap in his smooth, domed helmet revealed a weathered, bearded, grease-stained face that aged him beyond his years. Behind him, manning the crude slug-thrower, Izuru stood keeping a keen vigil on their surroundings. Little could be seen underneath her green, pointed hood. In contrast to Keladi and the weary human, Izuru looked alert and wide awake.

 _You are so much more than I will ever be_ , Keladi thought, looking away guiltily when Izuru caught her eye. Her ribs were giving her trouble again, the dull aching beneath her breast flaring every so often. Was she slightly envious of the older woman, jealous of her successes, her family, perhaps even her favour with the Chief Farseer?

Dispelling those thoughts, Keladi turned her attention to the fog-covered landscape. The night and a little luck had carried them safely through the thinly-stretched Chaos lines. The sentries must've mistaken the tank for one of their own, after all the bulk of their forces made use of either captured or repurposed equipment, much of it imperial in origin, so why was this lone armoured vehicle any different?

The thought of the Imperial Guard nearby as opposed to the threat of the Chaos troops heartened Keladi, despite – and this made her tremble in fear on discovering – the striking similarities between the two sides. How disgusted she felt when she saw the youthful faces of some of the dead Chaos soldiers and Imperial Guardsmen with most scarcely out of their late teens, some younger, around her age. _Children_ , _there are children killing one another,_ she realised with despair on seeing their bodies locked together in tight embraces; _what would their parents think?_

A sudden icy gust, fresher than the inland wind, caught her hair, blowing strands of it loose from where she'd tied it back. As well as that, a new smell wafted up Keladi's nostrils.

 _Is that? It can't be_ , Keladi stopped and looked up a steep incline leading off the icy road and up through a defile.

"Keladi!" Izuru leapt from the tank and pursued Keladi as she pelted up the path. Not stopping, Keladi was running almost on all-fours, haring up towards a narrow ridgeline, determined to see what was up the top, her childish curiosity getting the better of her.

"Keladi!" Izuru, the faster, caught up with her charge and pulled her to a standstill. "Better to scout the ridge cautiously as a ranger would," she whispered, lowering Keladi to squat beside her.

"Apologies," Keladi brushed her hair from her stark white face and laid a hand on the crumbling stone path for balance. "I had an urge to see what was up here. I smelt something I have never smelt before."

"Have you never seen where the land ends?" Izuru asked, intrigued.

"Never, the land never stops on Ulthwé; it just goes on and on."

"Come," Izuru took Keladi by the shoulder. "I will show you what I mean."

The two Eldar crawled up to the crest of the ridge. The sight beyond made Keladi draw sharply on her breath. "Khaela…" she gasped, lost for words. "Jain Zar…"

"The Ice Fangs," Izuru said, glancing at Keladi. "A sight to behold, is it not?"

"Diverting," Keladi breathed, captivated by the vast, frozen ocean that stretched away before her.

"Interesting," Izuru raised an eyebrow. "Are you certain that does it justice?"

"Never before have I witnessed such a natural phenomenon…"

"Nor will you ever again, possibly…"

The narrow ridge Keladi and Izuru occupied was nearly two hundred feet high and looked out across an endless glacier decorated with curved spikes rising into the air, forming pointed fingers of ice. Through it channels had been brutally carved by ice-breakers, or burnt into liquid by engine thrusters. Down below, a raised, two-lane road ran between the cliffs and the sea. Scattered across the asphalt was more wreckage, civilian vehicles commandeered by the Guard and some military that had all been either abandoned or shot up by Chaos air. Supplies, container upon container of food, clothing, ammunition, weapons, abandoned during the retreat, were just left lying there.

"The humans must have left in a hurry, all those supplies down there," Keladi said, rubbing her left eye.

"Is your eye troublesome, does it bother you?"

"Not overly so, I am blessed with the dominant use of my left eye over my right. I cannot imagine how I would have fared had it been my other eye."

"You are left-eye dominant?"

"Left eye, left hand, left foot," Keladi smiled sheepishly. "I will hazard a guess that it is what set me apart from the other initiates."

"Left-handed, very good…" Izuru knew only one other who chose the left hand over the right. A slow smile began to creep across her features. Before Keladi saw she quickly hid it and reassumed her cool stare.

"Izuru?"

"We turn south here, all the way along the coastline until we encounter the humans. Now, down from here, we must join the coast road."

Anon Brightfire and the Black Guardians were waiting down by the tank when Izuru and Keladi returned.

"You strayed from the path, I was worried," the Autarch came forwards, his eyes full of concern.

"My charge and I were gathering knowledge of the area. We are very close to the ice fields now. There is a road running along below the cliffs which we will be shortly joining for the journey south."

"Yes it seems the gods are with us. We slipped through the Chaos filth unobserved last night and, from your knowledge gathered, it would appear we have outrun their advance."

"Do not breathe easy yet, warriors, we still have a journey ahead which we must undertake with all speed."

"As you command, Izuru," Anon bowed his head.

Leaping up onto the tank's rear deck, Izuru noticed the human looking none too pleased at having the 'Stickies', as he would refer to them, so close to his tank. "You have our gratitude for assisting us, human, our route takes us onto a coastal road now and will lead us south to your allies."

The human shook his head, "right now we're running on fumes, we need fuel badly else we're not going anywhere."

"The coast roads are awash with untouched supplies, human, you will get your fuel, I assure you."

The reply he gave was lost when the tank's engine roared and it rolled forwards. Izuru though could lip-read, it going something like 'never trust a Stickie', of which certainly she wouldn't blame him for. The odd truce they had in play would only last for so long and Izuru would be much happier when both parties went their separate ways, preferably without any bloodshed.

The party met the main road after descending via a side-track. Down there it was even colder with face-numbing winds riding in from the ice fields, causing even Izuru and Anon to shiver and draw their robes tighter around themselves. Keladi had the worst of it. So bad it became that she could feel the mucus, dripping from her nostrils, hardening. The tips of her ears she had lost all feeling in entirely.

Izuru promptly came to Keladi's aid, demonstrating the safest place to walk was behind the tank, furthermore where the warm engine gave off heat. Despite this Keladi had never been so cold, then she grew colder still when she saw the bodies.

The young banshee stared, deeply disturbed at a long row of bodies arranged underneath a frost-covered tarpaulin by the roadside. All that was visible were pairs of feet, completely bare, stripped of boots and socks. _Have they no respect for their dead?_ It was customary for Eldar to recover every single body from the battlefield along with the accompanying Waystone to prepare for the addition to the Infinity Circuit. _Do humans have no such ritual? Are they simply abandoned where they lie as feed for carrion?_

"Wounded men, unable to keep up with their comrades," Izuru was suddenly at Keladi's shoulder. "They have orders to leave their wounded behind it seems."

"Savages, disregarding their dead in such a manner," Keladi said bitterly. "How can they steal from them, dead and dying men?"

"It is surprising what lengths we will go in self-preservation, be it theft, cowardice, murder even…"

"You speak as if we are alike! The Prey are nothing like us, I do not believe it," Keladi said, mortified.

"We are, more than you know it. Inside each and every one of us, human and Eldar, is a basic natural instinct to survive, however dire the odds."

"The – the humans, the Imperials I saw were indistinguishable from the Chaos soldiers…"

"What you saw were fresh troops, recently swayed to their cause. They are not yet fully in the thrall of Chaos."

Keladi shook her head, "that is not the reason, it is how young some were. Many were adolescents, not yet fully matured."

"They conscript those in their mid-teens, it isn't unusual to see them fighting."

"B-but children, Izuru, how could children be forced to kill one another like that? I do not understand it."

"All it takes is a small push to turn an innocent person into a killer," Izuru turned away, uncaring for the human dead. "Come, I have something to show you."

"What if it were your children?" Keladi blurted. "Would you be so quick to disregard it then?"

She sensed her words hitting home like lasbolts, getting under Izuru's skin and making her halt in her tracks. The mention of her children would have touched a nerve no doubt, Keladi regretted it instantly.

"Come, Keladi," Izuru beckoned after a nasty pause.

Keladi left go of her breath. Hurrying after Izuru in the wake of the tank, she opened her mouth but the apology she wished to give was snatched from her tongue by a screech of metal on metal as the burnt-out shell of a vehicle was shunted aside in a shower of sparks and grind of buckling steel.

"This is for you," Izuru pulled a human slug rifle from where several had been hidden underneath the boot of a car and held it out to Keladi. The Kazalak was familiar to Izuru. She had used it on Grendel and was impressed with its performance despite its crude design and archaic appearance.

"I will not touch a human weapon," Keladi said adamantly. The weapon in question was equal parts metal and wood as well as smelling strongly of fresh lubrication and thoroughly lacking in elegance.

"I was not offering it to you," Izuru pressed the rifle into Keladi's arms to her thinly-veiled dismay.

"It smells," Keladi wrinkled her nose as she caught a whiff of it. "Is that blood on it?" she noticed dark stains on the wooden butt.

"That is the beauty of human weaponry…" Izuru handed a curved piece of steel holding metallic slugs to Keladi. "…no amount of time or lack of care will diminish its combat effectiveness."

"You admire them."

"I respect their lethality, now load," Izuru pointed at the rifle Keladi held awkwardly in one hand and the ammunition in the other. "Have you ever used a slug weapon?"

"Never."

"Then I will show you." Izuru demonstrated, first to load then to chamber the Kazalak. "Do you see this lever on the right side? That is the safety. When horizontal you cannot shoot, push it down once for automatic fire and further down for single shots; make sense?"

"Yes."

"Now, watch me," Izuru shifted the Kazalak to her left hand and shouldered it. "As I do, tuck the butt into your shoulder, that's it. Rest your cheek against the butt and point it where you wish to fire. Widen your feet a little, spread them out, yes. When you have a target, inhale, hold then exhale, empty your lungs of everything and gently squeeze the trigger, don't pull it. Keep your actions smooth and fluid, just as you would with a blade."

"I am averse to becoming too familiar with human weaponry," Keladi said glumly, lowering her Kazalak "Such things would be heavily frowned upon at home."

"Then see it from a different angle. You are sampling a foreign culture and in doing so gaining greater understanding of the humans in the process."

"Perhaps," Keladi let the weapon dangle by its sling from her shoulder. "But it is not the kind of culture I would wish to taste."

"Then what is it that takes your fancy?" Izuru asked, prepping an identical rifle for her own use.

"I always assumed humans spent all of their time plotting and scheming against the fair folk, this is not true, is it? Such beings, barbarism aside, share a similar amount of traits with our kind, is that true?"

"Yes it is."

"Are they capable of certain emotions, like love?"

"Humans…" Izuru let her words hang for a beat before continuing, "…can be overwhelmingly cruel, selfish, aggressive and xenophobic, alarmingly, frighteningly so. But, on the other hand, they are capable of positive feelings like compassion and mercy however brutal they might first appear. Take a basic, nondescript Imperial soldier. He is indoctrinated from his first day of training to loath anything and everything nonhuman in equal measure because he is told to, not because of his nature. The soldier still maintains his moral values and his sense of right and wrong though. When confronted with a dying xeno he refuses to praise his emperor for blessing him with a worthy kill, rather he breaks his oath to eradicate the unclean taint and gives up a part of himself so that the xeno might live."

"This is you, isn't it?" Keladi said in slow realisation. "You and that human you mentioned aboard the Arabulucu; why?"

"You find Kindness and compassion in the unlikeliest of people, Keladi," Izuru smiled briefly. "And as it happens I owe that human a great deal."

Tucking spare magazines away in her robes, Izuru slung her own Kazalak on her shoulder and beckoned, "time is of the essence."

"Grendel, the name of the planet where…?" Keladi hurried to catch up with Izuru.

"Where it happened, yes," Izuru replied, matching her pace with the dishevelled banshee.

"When can I hear the full story?" Keladi asked, some of her youthful eagerness returning.

"On our return to Craftworld Ulthwé I shall recount it to you in full."

"I would like that very much, especially since it has a happy ending. All good stories should have happy endings shouldn't they?"

"I would not tarnish it by describing its ending as happy, Keladi, bittersweet would do better. I won but at a cost."

"What cost? You lived, the Void Dragons were beaten and your children returned to you safe and sound so how can you say it is bittersweet?"

"My human allies paid a great toll in lives for an imaginary cause, one I made up to deceive them into assisting me. It was a selfish deed but I _had_ to have my children back, there was no other way. I am ashamed for my actions, for they were poorly executed and resulted in too many deaths; and very nearly mine."

"But you were too strong for them."

"I was weak," Izuru's fingers brushed her side where the old wound was. "And I have this as a reminder of my failures."

"The healers worked their miracles…"

"No amount of healing can treat these types of wounds, for they are not of the body," Izuru moved her hand up to her head and pointed, "they are of the soul, Keladi, and we will carry them with us forever."

"I do not understand. How can it hurt you even after the flesh has sealed?"

"You will understand, Keladi," Izuru said, " _you will_."

* * *

Midday had come and gone when one of the Guardians, on a foray, came hurrying back to the party. Briefly he convened with Anon who called Izuru over. Keladi quickly followed.

"Scout reports there is a large weapons emplacement four-hundred yards down the road with no visible activity on the outside."

"Tell your scout thank you. I must see for myself," Izuru quickened her pace. "Keladi, stay with the tank."

Keladi, hoping to accompany Izuru, looked crestfallen but obeyed.

"How close did your scout venture?" Izuru asked, striding ahead alongside Anon.

"Close enough to discern that if there is a garrison then they are all fast asleep."

"No activity, curious. What manner of emplacement is it?"

"A large-calibre naval cannon— twin barrels with a thin screen of anti-aircraft nests protecting it, they too are unmanned. They appear disabled, their breechblocks have been removed and charges have been set off inside their barrels."

"The main battery?"

"The dome protecting the main firing chamber has partially collapsed."

"Very well, let us proceed."

The emplacement, a gross understatement as it turned out, was more like a fortress to Izuru. _Typical humans_ , _they must always have the biggest gun_ , she thought, surveying the gigantic dome through the optics of a Guardian's lasrifle. Like a disgusting growth on a wild beast, the gun's foundations protruded from the cliffside, over the ice, and went deep down underneath it to the seabed, unknown fathoms below.

Reducing the magnification a margin, Izuru drew back and swept her sights across the barrels of the cannon that were pointed roughly roughly forty-five degrees upwards. So large were they that the ends of the gun tubes were lost in the low cloud. The width too, she suspected the tank would have no trouble fitting inside the bore which would still leave room to spare. But it did not stop the mighty weapon, useless where it was positioned, from being rendered inoperable. The lack of the bullet damage to the outer barricades and shell holes in the land implied the garrison was responsible for the damage to the weapon, not the Chaos forces.

 _Such a waste_ , Izuru tutted, zooming out even further to watch Anon and the Guardians cautiously move in on the outer defences, passing by sandbags, concrete walls and tank traps. Izuru wanted to warn Anon of the threat of anti-personnel mines. She almost did but stayed her tongue at the last moment. Of course they would take that into account, especially after the incident with the minefield. The very last thing they would want was her advising them from a safe distance.

"Approaching the first line of defence, a concrete checkpoint, no movement so far. There are no signs the fighting has reached this far yet, no spent shell cases or las marks anywhere."

"Yes," Izuru kept her responses short and blunt, not wishing to distract Anon by talking in his ear.

"Weapons emplacements are abandoned, no one to be seen. There are a lot of empty ammunition crates, storage containers and provisions scattered around."

"Touch nothing."

"Yes, Ambassador, we will take heed of your advice," Anon replied coldly.

Izuru squeezed her eyes shut, instantly regretting her choice of words and furious with herself for attempting to micro-manage the Guardians whose commander was perfectly capable of leading them without her interference. "Apologies, I have faith in you, Autarch," she quickly added.

"Indeed… first line clear, no contacts. The main gate is ahead, it is wide open."

Izuru watched the black specks slowly converge on the tall, double doors and form a line against the wall beside it. Then, with weapons raised, the party slipped inside.

 _Please be safe, please be safe_ , Izuru crossed her fingers and waited for the sounds of gunfire and grenades going off.

"Main courtyard clear."

The reply came as a huge relief to her. She almost laughed. "Hold your ground. We will bring the tank up."

"We await your presence."

Hastening down from the rocky bluff, Izuru waved to the idling tank. Seeing her signal, the human spoke into his intercom, urging his driver forwards.

"Warmer now?" Izuru asked a pink-faced Keladi who trailed alongside.

"Mm, a little, yes. Gratitude for asking."

"Unsling your rifle, be ready to fire but be certain of whom you are aiming at before you do so."

"Yes, Izuru," Keladi unslung the unfamiliar weapon clumsily.

"Be mindful of where the muzzle is," Izuru caught the front sight and pushed it away when Keladi unknowingly pointed it at her. "Keep your finger away from the trigger unless you have a target in your sights."

"So complicated, I never realised there was this much to it," Keladi hung her head.

"It will become second nature. Now, do you remember the aiming techniques I taught you?"

"Of course, muscles loose, feet apart, breathe in, hold, breathe out, squeeze."

"…Kill."

"Yes…" Keladi looked away, perturbed by Izuru's nonchalant manner.

The Guardian sentries met them by the gates and ushered them through to where Anon waited beside a gently steaming cooking pot.

"The courtyard and surrounding battlements are secure, though…" Anon stepped over and sniffed the contents of the pot "…this place is not as deserted as we thought." Wrinkling his nose, he replaced the rusted lid, "human swill."

"Sentries posted?"

"Two pairs of two atop the ramparts, they'll inform us of any developments. A great deal of ordnance is lying about, human munitions. Every shell, every weapon has been disabled as the anti-aircraft batteries were."

Keladi, standing off to one side, gaped at the destruction wrought on the great dome which had had its roof blasted outwards, dumping huge blocks of masonry about the courtyard.

"Has the interior been swept?" Izuru asked.

"Not yet."

"Have the Guardians sweep this place thoroughly. Try and use minimum force if there are humans here, we would not want to create a bad impression."

"At once," Anon swept away, whistling to the five Guardians not on watch.

"Still warm," Keladi brushed the blackened steel with her fingertips. "You do not think there are any humans here, do you?"

"Let the Autarch find the answer to that question, Keladi," Izuru said, squatting against a heap of rubble. Propping her rifle upright she took out a small tube from her robes and squeezed out a thick, grey paste onto her finger which she then ate. "Here, eat," she held the tube out to Keladi who sniffed it tentatively.

"I do not eat meat or fish," she said.

"Milk, honey?"

"None."

"Of course," Izuru muttered, taking down some more of the paste. "Alaitoc is different from your home, so many little differences in culture I have yet to understand."

"I took no offence," Keladi smiled.

"So, a life without meat or fish or milk?" Izuru popped two round pills unto her mouth and swallowed. "That strikes me as more of an Alaitoc custom."

"I could not say… gratitude," Keladi accepted a pair of hydration tablets. "I could not say as I am sadly ignorant of your world's culture."

"Then why don't you make it an objective perhaps? To become learned on the culture of the other Craftworlds, for there are many more out there besides Lyanden and Alaitoc."

"Yes, yes I will," Keladi shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "Begging you pardon, I wished to be excused."

Izuru nodded, understanding what she meant by that, "of course, stay within calling distance but do not leave the courtyard."

Seeking a quiet corner out of eyesight, Keladi looked around to check if she was alone and pulled off the lower plates of her armour. Kneeling down she grunted as she felt the waste leave her anus and settle in the dirt. Craning her neck, she examined the crystalline excrement which was neither too soft nor too hard. Her stretched nerves made her worried it would come out badly but it didn't, to her relief.

" _Khaela Mensha Khaine_ …" she whispered, shutting her eyes.

"Izuru."

"Anon," Izuru snatched up her rifle as the Autarch spoke in her ear. "All is well?"

"We have discovered the humans as well as several tonnes of ordnance for the naval gun."

"And?"

"There has to be four or five hundred down here, all wounded."

"Gods…" Izuru breathed, "I am coming down."

"No, stay up there please, there may be disease. It is difficult to discern if many are alive or dead."

"Come back, come back please."

"Fall back to the surface," Anon ordered, "all haste."

"Keladi!" Izuru called.

"Yes?" Keladi appeared, clutching her rifle to her chest. "Are we, are we in trouble?"

"The Autarch has discovered human wounded in their hundreds on the lower levels as well as ammunition for the naval gun."

"Can I…?" Keladi made to rush into the building.

"No," Izuru planted a firm hand on Keladi's breast. "Disease may run rampant amongst them. Have you been inoculated for human illnesses?"

"N-no," Keladi said, "but the wounded, can we not do something?"

"There is nothing we can do, they are all going to die," Izuru pulled her away from the door. "Let it go, just let it go. Come on, outside."

Leading Keladi outside to where the tank was parked, Izuru sat her down on an empty ammunition crate and prepared to go inside to find the Autarch. The three tank crew stopped mid-task and watched them warily.

"Xeno! Any of our lot in there?" the commander shouted.

"Several hundred wounded," Izuru replied without looking back.

"Teren, check for any fuel lying about," he said to one of his men.

"Anon, where are you?" Izuru said quietly, listening in the darkened entrance to the bunker.

"Three floors below you, there's…"

"Can you hear me?" Anon's voice had been cut off.

"He has a grenade," Anon murmured. Then, louder, he said, "we have no quarrel with you, human, put the grenade down!"

"Do not fire, do not fire!" Izuru cried, searching for a set of stairs that would take her down. With her heart trembling she cast about desperately for any means of descent but, maddeningly, found none.

"Stay away!" were Anon's last words before a distant boom, coming from below Izuru's feet, sent tremors upwards.

 _The ammunition…_ Izuru stood still, listening to the continuous rumbling beneath her. "Anon?" she said in a little voice before the walls, the floor and the ceiling crumbled, entombing her.

Otto Rinek heard the roars from underneath the ground and looked up in alarm.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Teren came pelting back down to Bomb with several small containers carrying fuel in his arms. The unexpected explosions made him lose his grip and dump them.

"Arty?!" Ozzi yanked out the .50 cal's mount pin and swung the weapon round.

"Dunno, Teren, pick those up!" Rinek pointed at the sloshing cartons.

"Sorry, Corp," Teren scooped up what he could carry and set about pouring the contents into the fuel tank.

The red-haired Stickie sitting nearby Rinek ignored, the other two doing the same. He was uneasy about having the Xeno around his crew but she seemed fairly harmless. The wound to her face and chest Ozzi had caused would have, no doubt, messed with her vision, for that Rinek was happy as it lowered the threat to him and his crew. He did not like seeing her carry around that Kazalak though, her clumsy movements telling him she was not an experienced soldier with it. Now, on hearing the commotion underground, she took off towards the bunker screaming in her bizarre language and waving her arms.

"What's got into her then?" Teren said, apathetic to the girl's distress.

"Dunno, could be a trick," Ozzi aimed the .50 cal at her back. "Pewpewpew."

"Don't waste rounds," Rinek slapped him on the back of the head, "might need 'em elsewhere."

"Had a beautiful shot lined up there," Ozzi said in annoyance. "How much longer we gonna be with these twats?"

"Till we find someone else to take them off our hands," Rinek replied, fiddling with the cables holding down the stowage. "Who knows, they might get shot on sight."

"Let's hope."

"They might shoot us too."

"What, the Stickies?"

"No, our lot, 'cause they might think we're traitors and all that."

"Well why don't they surrender to us then, jus' make things easier," Ozzi shrugged. "Dunno why they don't."

"Oh 'ello," Teren sat back and eyed the red-haired Stickie as she came running back towards them. Crying words they did not know, she gestured back towards the bunker which had partially collapsed, spreading debris further afield.

"Get outta here," Rinek waved her away.

"Go on, shoo, shoo!" Ozzi kicked his foot at her but hit thin air.

" _Izuru_ ," she wailed, reaching up and tugging at Teren's trouserleg.

"What's that, uh?" Teren stood up and kicked at the Xeno's fingers, stamping on them as they clawed at the hull.

"You've upset her now," Ozzi laughed, grinning at the Xeno, clutching her bruised fingers, shrieking in pain. "Go on, run away!"

Stumbling back up to the bunker, Keladi felt her fingers swelling from where the human had stamped on them. Izuru was buried under the rubble, she had to help her. The humans had not understood her pleas for aid and merely laughed; such cruel animals they were.

The four Black Guardians who had not been inside where digging away at the heaps of stone and steel, shovelling as fast as they could with whatever was at hand. All the dust in the air promptly made Keladi sneeze dropping the thin pickaxe handle she was holding. "Quickly, warriors, dig, dig!" she urged.

After a quarter of an hour the largest pieces of wreckage had been pulled to one side. Keladi, sweating and exhausted, jumped when a Guardian gave a shout.

"Here, down here!" he exclaimed, lifting rubble off of a hand.

"Izuru!" Keladi recognised the tattered cameleoline of her sleeve. In moments the rest of her was uncovered.

"Lift her up, be gentle."

"Izuru?" Keladi took her bloodied, dirt-encrusted hand into hers and held it as the ranger was carried to a clear patch of ground and lowered.

"Mmm, the living area was quite a state, Ellorias, it must be cleaned…"

"Pardon?" Keladi tilted her head to listen.

"We would not want the children to hurt themselves," Izuru rambled.

"Ssh now," Keladi unbuttoned her rain cape and laid it over her. "Words cannot… I am so glad you are alright."

Untying her scarf, Keladi wiped some of the blood from Izuru's face. A few of the older scars, white lines, were visible beneath the fresher cuts; and there were very many of the former.

"Aah, Little Sister," Izuru touched Keladi's cheek and wiggled her ear affectionately. Her half-closed eyes then opened wide and blinked sharply. "Forgive me, I was dreaming." Glancing down at the cape, she frowned, "now is not the time for sleeping, there is much work to be done."

"You were buried alive, you must rest," Keladi said, trying to prevent Izuru from rising.

"Impossible, we are – as the humans would say – on the clock, Keladi." Izuru leapt to her feet, oblivious to the state or her face and arms and accosted the Guardians. "The Autarch was three floors below me when the building collapsed."

"What are you orders, Ambassador?"

"Izuru?" Keladi came forwards, "they might be alive."

"Be silent, girl," Izuru said coldly. "Clearing the rubble and digging downwards would take days, time we do not have."

"We go where you go, Ambassador, the Autarch's orders still stand. Only with the death of the Ambassador and the failure of our mission will those orders become defunct."

"Very well, as you were before, loose formation."

Keladi, at Izuru's side, placed a hand on her arm, "you condemn them."

"The mission, Keladi, takes priority over all."

"Even Eldar lives? I thought we were here to save lives, not damn them. This isn't right," Keladi pressed her hands on her head in anger.

"There is no right decision in war, we simply carry on and do what is necessary for our people, Keladi."

"Including abandoning wounded, friendly and enemy? You speak of noble goals but do horrid things to achieve them. It was as if you pulled the trigger yourself," Keladi pulled the sling of her Kazalak off of her shoulder and let it fall. "If this is what war does to people then I do not want any part in it. I do not want to be turned into a killer."

Izuru's face darkened. Drawing herself up to her full height, she bore down on Keladi slowly and menacingly. "Pick up the rifle, Keladi," she said quietly.

"No, do not make me do this," Keladi's face cracked as she backed away. "Please don't make me do this."

"Pick up the rifle or you will join the others."

" _Jain Zar help me…_ "

Scooping up the dirtied Kazalak, Izuru thrust it roughly at Keladi, "you will kill on my command then you will ask me for more, understand."

Shoulder's rising and falling, Keladi slid downwards, sobbing, "I've had enough, I want to go home."

"Stay here if you will, but expect no mercy when they find you," Izuru stared down at the crying child heartlessly before signalling the waiting Guardians; _get moving._

* * *

Scores of heavy equipment, artillery and trucks had been left either beside or on the road during the retreat and offered little resistance to the sixty-tonne tank.

The wind was less frigid now and snow no longer fell, lifting Izuru's spirits. Standing tall behind the turret, she looked across the frozen sea, now much flatter and less uneven, stretching away to the horizon; a solid, unmarked pan of grey.

Keladi sat on the back of the tank, nestled amongst the stowage. She had reluctantly joined them, having no other options and had not, so far, said a word since leaving the gun sight.

 _Foolish child, so naïve_ , Izuru thought, disappointed with the young banshee. It was one with a hard heart and lack of sentiment who survived in war. There was no room for idealists or beings that tried to see good in every living thing; there just wasn't.

 _Anon, I am so sorry._ The guilt and anguish Izuru felt over the loss of the Autarch and four Guardians she could feel eating away at her on the inside. She would return for them, once her mission was accomplished. If anything she would at least make certain to recover their Spirit Stones, in that way they could at least rest in peace.

 _Be at peace, Son of Ulthwé_.

Leaning out of his hatch, the tank commander leant across to his gunner and spoke to him. Izuru's acute senses made out what he was saying. "Ozzi, flush the turret ring then do an ammo check."

Saying nothing in reply, the crewman closed his hatch.

Disconnecting his intercom, the human glanced back at Izuru and tapped his palm on the surface next to him.

 _What does he want?_ Izuru let go of the stubber and climbed onto the top of the turret.

"We do what we do," the human's weathered face was hard as he regarded her.

"Whatever it takes, whatever the cost," Izuru replied, crossing her legs.

"What happened back there—"

"—will happen every day and it will not get better."

"No it will not."

"Do you really believe my people will fight with yours?"

"I do not know. All I can be certain of is that a dark wave is coming and unless it is broken we will all burn in chaotic fire."

"Y'know I used to pray, pray to the Emperor to see me through one more day of hell. And you know when I stopped doing it, didn't make any damn difference, not even when I started thinking…" the human looked away almost wistfully. "I'm already dead."

"It seems we are in agreement for once, human."

Staring straight ahead, the human said, "Rinek."

"Izuru."

The hurried return of the Guardians brought the tank to a halt. Izuru dropped down and went over to meet them.

"There is a manned checkpoint two hundred yards down the road."

"Occupied?"

"Occupied. From our observations they have an anti-tank weapon behind hardbags and at least two automatic weapons covering the approach in defilade, infantry strength unknown."

"I must see for myself." Izuru's heart fluttered, this was it, she could finally make contact with imperial forces.

The checkpoint was a mess of coiled razorwire that stretched from the cliffside, across the road, all the way down to the ice. Tank traps, large concrete pillars and iron rails welded together were laid out across the asphalt. Black muzzles of automatics protruded from sandbagged bunkers. Silent eyes watched as the tank rounded the cliff and drove down the road towards them.

"Clear your weapons," Izuru said to Keladi and the Guardians, "they will shoot you otherwise. Keep your hands raised and walk slowly. "Keladi, your sword."

Sour-faced, Keladi unsheathed her blade and slung it amongst the tank's stowage.

"We must make it appear to them that we are captives, for we are under Corporal Rinek's protection and by law, we will be treated as prisoners of war."

"We understand, Ambassador," the remaining Guardians laid down their lasrifles and removed any other weapons on them.

"Keladi, stay close by me, but do not walk directly behind and do not lower your hands unless I do so first."

"Yes, Izuru," Keladi grunted.

The first problem came when the tank's passage was barred by tank traps, forcing it to a dead halt fifty yards from the barrier.

"Can't go any further like this," Rinek said, vaulting from the cupola. In his hands was a compact automatic. "I'll escort you in."

"Let us go, warriors, we are his prisoners," Izuru raised her hands and stepped out into the open. "Slowly."

Thus began a slow, careful march down the road to the waiting guns. An icy calm was gripping Izuru. She was not worried in the least for her sake, rather for Keladi's. Walking beside her, Izuru could hear Keladi's frantic breathing and see her eyes flitting about.

 _Be calm, take deep breaths_ , Izuru directed her thoughts to her, connecting with her mind.

 _I do not want to talk_ , Keladi retorted, trying to force Izuru from her mind.

 _As you wish_ , Izuru backed out respectfully.

Keeping his weapon pointed in their general direction, Rinek waved his arm to the observers.

"HALT!" a sharp voice rang out.

"Stop," Rinek said.

"Who are you?!"

"Corporal Otto Rinek, Boneheads."

"What are you doing way out here?"

"Long bloody story, pal, tell it to ya over a pint!"

"Who are those prisoners?"

"Xeno bastards, one of 'em requests to speak with your CO."

"Are they barmy?"

"I ain't hooked on them, nah."

"What the hell do you mean?" the voice, resonating from the bunker, travelled around it. The speaker's helmet came into view behind a barricade. "Come forwards, slowly."

"Move in, slowly," Rinek said, "carefully like."

"Corporal, get a squad!" the helmet barked. "Look lively!"

"They're coming to bring you in now," Rinek glanced back at Izuru. "Better make it clear to them."

"I would speak with your commanding officer, human soldier!" Izuru cried. "It is on a matter of extreme urgency."

"Why should we believe you?"

"We come to you as allies, not adversaries. We have no quarrel with the Imperium nor the Imperial Guard."

"Tell that to the Ecclesiarchy, I doubt they'd believe you either."

"Oi, mate, these Xenos got us outta sticky jam, saved our tank. Now from all the written-off tracks we've seen back there, you need every tank you can get."

The half-hidden helmet was silent for a moment. "Who speaks for you?"

"I do," Izuru waved her arms, "I am an emissary from the Craftworld of Ulthwé. Our forces are currently engaging a Chaos splinter fleet in space but a bigger fleet is on its way to Cadia, I _must_ propose a truce between my people and yours, it is imperative."

"You're an emissary?"

"I and the girl," Izuru indicated Keladi, standing, petrified beside her.

Again the helmet paused. Then, to Izuru's horror, he said, "bring the Stickie females in, shoot the black ones."

"NO!" Izuru pulled Keladi to the ground as a terrifying rattle of stubber fire snapped overhead. Both Eldar, deafened from the metallic snap-hiss of passing rounds, shut their eyes tight and clung to one another. Izuru could feel Keladi screaming.

" _Areyoualright?_ " Rinek, hugging the ground, bellied over to check on them. His words were muffled and seemed to stretch. Izuru nodded dumbly.

"You didn't 'ave to shoot the black buggers," Rinek shouted. "They'll remember that!"

"Just whose side are you on anyway, Corporal?"

"Well we'd better hope it's the same one as yours, chum."

"Corporal, get your squad out there, bring the Xenos in."

Izuru dragged Keladi to her feet. The four corpses of the Guardians were lying in pools of blood, spread-eagled in the road. "Don't look back, Keladi," she said. "Don't look back."

Half a dozen soldiers in olive grey fatigues and body armour hurried through a gap made in the wire and pointed rifles at the pair. Their faces were blackened with dirt or paint and several had fixed bayonets.

"Close your eyes, Keladi," Izuru tensed as the soldiers surrounded them. Behind her, one drew back the butt of his rifle and smashed it into her skull. White lights danced around her vision. For a moment Izuru tottered there before falling. Keladi received the same and collapsed next to her. Through her blurring vision, Izuru saw the bandaged side of Keladi's face and the blood that oozed down her cheek before blacking out.


	34. Chapter 33

06:55/M41/03-40.999/Karamaya/Nemesis Tessera/Nemesis System/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

Lieutenant Colonel Gausser clamped his hand over his right ear to block out the ever-present annoyance of the enemy shelling. Pressed to his left ear was a vox receiver. On the other end of the line was Brigadier General Vorbeck.

"…there is one other thing you could do for me. There's a man here I would like to get out – quickly, sir."

"Who, Colonel?" Vorbeck replied coolly.

"My adjutant, I've spoken to you about him before. If there is a chance that he could join your headquarters at Sturnn I would be most grateful."

There was a pause as Vorbeck covered the transmitter with his hand and spoke to another, then, "very well but hurry, the main supply route to Karamaya is coming under fire as we speak, the railway has been written off, only the coast road remains open; do not leave it too long."

"Thank you, sir, out."

High above the battalion CP, in the sole remaining tower of an Administratum office, Captain Glowna leant against a crumbling buttress and glassed the distant frontline on the outskirts of Karamaya from over a broad wall of hardbags.

Hundreds of tiny fires burnt in the ravaged, torn-up landscape that stretched far away to the east. The boots, wheels and tracks of a hundred thousand soldiers and tanks had melted the hardened crust of the planet's surface into a sticky, oozing mud hell, slowing their progress to a crawl but buying the Imperials vital hours to close the perimeter around the city.

Glowna retracted his view from the chains of razor wire, tank traps and hastily cobbled together barricades, past the narrow lanes sown with mines and wreckage to the thin lines of defence the 228th's three infantry battalions, as well as other regular and provisional units, now occupied. The Nerians stood shoulder to shoulder with hodgepodge forces that would have never, under normal circumstances, be forced onto the frontline. Sappers, cooks, signals, logistics, even provosts were being pressed to join the defence. There was also the arrival of a cavalry squadron, horse riders, or so the rumours said. The horsemen had yet to make an appearance though just how valuable they would be in the city's bombed-out streets was debatable.

Karamaya was, for many, the last line of defence. It was where every single imperial unit on the planet had retreated to bar Fort Sturnn. The fragmented regiments, Nerian 228th included, had been thrown into defending the forty klick-wide perimeter, from the north end of the city to the south where a single lane road and a railway, a fragile lifeline, led along the coast to the fort. The depth of the perimeter was little more than six klicks, extending from the eastern outskirts to the beaches, trapping hundreds of thousands of imperial personnel and a far greater number of civilians in Karamaya, all at the mercy of the Chaos army and air power, the latter having free roam of the skies after the Navy had fled.

 _Chaos_ , Glowna turned away from the parapet and hobbled down a half-destroyed set of stone steps. His diarrhoea had grown worse, his uniform stunk and he had not shaved, washed or eaten in three days. The sickly Glowna's condition really was no better than the rest of the poor, wretched men in Karamaya as he saw with the hundreds of wounded, ill soldiers crowding the blasted corridors of the Admin building he stumbled down. The lower levels with their thick, reinforced walls had survived barrage after barrage of ceaseless shelling. Dust and dirt had been dislodged with every explosion, blanketing the helpless, cowering Guardsmen in filth, covering their faces, removing all traces of individuality until there was only the uniform and the shaking helmet on top.

Frenetic whispers, prayers and the sound of young men—boys—crying filled Glowna's ears. Ragged coughing carried through the murky rooms, somewhere the trickle of urine left someone's bladder, splashing against a surface. The stink of shit and dead flesh was in the air. Vermin roved freely about, in some cases setting upon dead soldiers who'd passed unbeknownst to those nearby.

Wading through the sea of arms, legs, heads and bloody bandages, Glowna made it down to the crowded battalion CP on the ground floor. "They're rolling up both flanks, it's chaos," Glowna slumped against a concrete post, putting his weight on a broken metal pipe jutting out of it. "Sir?"

Gausser turned in his chair and regarded the soot-faced, bedraggled captain. "You look exhausted, Captain."

"Were I to fall asleep it'd take the Emperor's coming to awaken me," Glowna winced. "You don't look so good yourself, sir," he nodded at Gausser's similarly dishevelled appearance. "I've just been having a look up top, it's bloody chaos, sir, we'll be hard pressed to hold."

"That need no longer concern you," Gausser rose and faced Glowna. "You are to report to General Headquarters at Fort Sturnn immediately, you are being evacuated."

Glowna felt his world beginning to tumble down around him. For a few moments he was speechless, aghast at being ordered away from his post. To him that was tantamount to cowardice.

"I can't leave the command, sir," he said in quiet desperation.

"Whilst there is still a functioning chain of command, Captain, you are compelled to carry out any and all orders I give you, those orders _will_ be obeyed."

Glowna stood firm, "I'm prepared to disobey that order, sir."

Gausser, too tired to fight, instead took Glowna by the arm, "Cojen Scherder's influence lies heavy on you still I see, come listen to me for a moment," he walked the captain away from the ears of the CP. "There comes a certain point in history where we must all do something of importance, whether it is to perish in the name of the Emperor or to perform a suicidal feat of bravery. You, Captain, I have decided shall not die here as we all will eventually," Gausser gave a tired smile and rested a fatherly hand on Glowna's shoulder. "You are worth saving."

The howl of incoming rounds boxed both men's' ears momentarily. Gausser's gaze was drawn to the street outside where wounded, dying men were howling in agony.

"But I'm part of all this," Glowna said. "There are far better people than me. Most of them are being killed out there."

"There is nothing wrong with you apart from you smoke and you drink too much. You are a brave man, possessing qualities few men have in this age. Have you ever thought about what will happen when the day comes where we will no longer need great fighting men, rather great civilians? In the forty-second millennium, in the new Imperium – if such a thing is allowed to exist – there will be a need for men of knowledge, of learning, men who do not look to the gun to solve each and every one of their problems but men who are better than that." Gausser stopped for a moment, short of breath. "This is my final order to you, Captain. You are to leave this nightmare, seek out these better men and try and make something of this madness, create something that cannot be torn down in seconds."

"Sir?" Glowna tottered on his feet.

"Now you must leave."

"I will not leave your side, sir," Glowna protested.

"Please leave," Gausser marched Glowna over to waiting motorcycle combination and ordered the driver to ferry Glowna to Fort Sturnn.

"Forgive me, sir," Glowna choked back tears and saluted clumsily.

"Captain, make it last," Gausser returned the salute and waved them away.

* * *

Martti Sinric lay on his back looking up at the pink-tinged blackness spotted with white stars. He marvelled how clean and pure the expanse beyond the planet was, no dirt or dead bodies polluting it, making it sick with disease, for none of that could exist in the vacuum.

The ground he lay on was hard and provided no comfort, not that he minded, even when his hair had frozen to ground, tearing clumps off when he tried to move his head. He was thinking of the girl in the tunnels, Hermina, her soft touch and warmth. They had begun talking quietly after Martti took her to a quiet spot and cleaned her up. Not long afterwards they made love. Hermina had thanked him afterwards for being so gentle with her which warmed his heart. Martti then promised to return for her but, deep down, both knew they would never meet again. _Poor girl_ , _I wish we had met under different circumstances,_ Martti thought sadly, _and I wish we could've had more time_.

Tozar was conspicuously absent as they exited the wide culvert and dropped down to a stream bed in the dead of night. Martti spared no thought for the vile rapist as he trudged at the rear of the platoon. He did however notice Larn with Tozar's nightscope-equipped rifle on his shoulder and made the guess that Tozar would not be joining them for the rest of the journey; much to his relief.

Something was wrong with Larn. He was acting off, speaking less and less and generally becoming slightly less pleasant to deal with than he usually was. It worried Martti and made him wonder whether being in the company of the veterans was influencing Larn to become more like them, a crueller, less moral person who was slowly losing his grip. _Please don't become like them, I've already lost enough friends; I won't lose another to death or madness._

Martti watched Larn out of the corner of his eye when they fell out for a rest a few hours before dawn. What he could make out in the darkness, very little for that matter, was that Larn appeared to be functioning fine on the outside, unless something ailed him on the inside. Was Larn keeping something from the rest of the platoon for fear of them leaving him behind? Martti could not tell. When it dawn broke he would confront him.

"Y'getting on alright, Martti?" Larn asked without looking up. He worked to release the bulky nightscope from the rail it was attached to atop the LAR's receiver cover. Accomplishing this with some effort, Larn removed the rifle's mount and scope then stowed it in his small pack amongst the few pieces of kit he had left, bulking up the pack considerably.

"Yeah," Martti grunted.

"You were gone a while, lad, get friendly wi' that lass did ye?" Larn jerked the bolt from Tozar's LAR and threw it away. His own rifle, distinctive from the other weapons with its wood furniture, he kept beside him.

Martti remained silent. He did not wish to discuss the matter of the girl with Larn of all people.

"F'I hadn't been there Tozar woulda got away with it," Larn said bluntly.

"How did you know anyway?" Martti leant forwards, curious as to how, in fact, Larn did know where to be at exactly the right time, "wasn't a coincidence."

"I'm a Corporal," Larn tapped a finger on the side of his nose, "that's how."

"Martti let him be, If Larn weren't there Tozar _would_ have got away with it," Erkki rolled over underneath his blanket, "let it drop."

Resting his head back on his pack, Martti looked up at the stars again and tried to recall Hermina.

"You look like my son," Antic's soft voice stirred him from his thoughts.

"Hmm?" Martti turned his head and looked over at the grubby-faced non-com lying nearby.

"My son, the resemblance is uncanny," Antic pulled a cigarette out of a packet and offered it to Martti.

"No thanks, Corporal. Is your son in the Guard too?"

"Hmph, he is seven years old," Antic chuckled. "Boys like you get younger and younger, never older."

"Don't look that young, do I, Corp?" Martti wiped his sweaty, greasy face with his hands. "All this muck surely."

"The eye of Antic sees under the layer of skin you wear as a shield to disguise your youth. It is an illusion of the mind, one that casts a dark shadow over countless boys like you, revealing what you are in your darkest moments."

"I'm not like that," Martti shook his head. "I'm not."

"I will push you, just a little, and you will drop down to our level. Everyone else has, including Corporal Larn. It is unavoidable."

"Yeah," Martti chewed a grimy fingernail pensively whilst trembling inside; _I will not descend to your depths, I will not…_

Sergeant Scherder, tireless, returned from a foray to the west. He had not settled down, instead disappearing ahead to scout for enemy. Martti heard the clink of rounds a moment before seeing him. "Quiet ahead but we are nearing the Chaos lines," Scherder muttered, keeling down and removing his cap.

"How do want to play this, Cojen?" Rauer said.

"The Perfs will not have had time to erect proper defences, just temporary fortifications which only protect from the west, where their eyes will be. The absolute last thing they'll expect will be an attack from the east, which I intend to exploit to its fullest. So, we've got surprise, that's our biggest advantage."

"I want to hit the Perfs with the 2-inch first, how much ammo have you got on you?" Scherder asked the mortar team.

"Four rounds HE," the mortarmen said, "s'all we can carry with the tube and baseplate."

"Well, make sure your aim is dead on, we want you to support us as we go in, make it seem like a whole battery is firing."

"That's a tall order with only four rounds."

"Same goes for the assault group, that's myself, Rauer, Antic, Valero and Erkki. Martti, Larn, you provide security for the tube. Stimm, can you send a signal to headquarters from here?"

"Can certainly give it a go, Scherder," Stimm nodded, unwrapping his vox's protective cover. "Send it now?"

"Yeah."

"Encode?"

"No, message reads: Scherder and 2 Platoon coming in at… let's say, 0730, codeword… what's a good codeword?"

"Demarcation?" Stimm suggested.

"No, too fancy."

"Decagon?" Rauer shrugged.

"Dynamo then?"

"Agreed, Stimm, codeword Dynamo, oh and get them to hold their fire to the east, wouldn't want our own troops firing on us now."

Pulling a blanket over his head to cover the spark given off by the wires, Stimm tapped out a message on the crude vox set. "There," he said when it was done, "message away."

"Let us hope it reaches them," Scherder got to his feet and stretched. " _Aah_ , now, on your feet 2 Platoon, a brew and a warm bed awaits us in Karamaya."

* * *

"Sir, new message!"

Captain Kaukasios' signaller rushed over with a handwritten message and held it out to him. Kaukasios was pacing around anxiously awaiting his replacement who, he'd been told, was arriving to take command of C Company, the reason being that Kaukasios had received a special communique ordering his return to Haven within the fortnight. The officer had barely been able to contain his glee when he had read the neatly printed black ink that contained the signature of, none other than, the Lord Commander of the Segmentum itself. He had known what the contents were even before slicing open the parchment and tearing the ornate seal off. Reading and re-reading it over and over again made his heart soar. He was going to be awarded the Star of Terra on Haven in scarcely two weeks' time; his plan had worked. In private Kaukasios had done a little jig and mimed dancing with one of those high-class women who would be throwing themselves at him in their dozens. The sector, perhaps even the entirety of Segmentum Obscurus would have his name on their lips. He had done it; he was a hero.

"Message for you, sir," Kaukasios' personal signaller, a man named Wulffe, brandished a creased piece of paper at Kaukasios who was in the process of tugging his greatcoat on.

"What's that?" he said impatiently. "I have no time for any personal messages, Wulffe. I am going outside to wait for the replacement company commander."

"It's from Sergeant Scherder, sir," Wulffe said, "our Scherder."

"…Impossible," Kaukasios snatched the note and skim-read it. "Sergeant Scherder and 2 Platoon coming in from eastern flank, please hold fire. Codeword…"

"Dynamo, sir."

"Dynamo?"

"Good code, sir."

"I do not like it, it could be a trap," Kaukasios muttered, his mind racing all the while.

"My thoughts exactly, sir."

Kaukasios remained clutching the message in his fist as Wolffe returned to his post. It took all of the officer's willpower to refrain from upending his table and turning over the CP in a fit of rage.

 _How can he still be alive?_ Kaukasios stamped outside, livid at the resurgence of the unkillable sergeant. Ignoring the rows of bodies lying on stretchers and the stain of blood running between the bricks, Kaukasios rested against a half-demolished window frame and scrutinised the message. Was it a trick, could the veteran NCO have been captured and forced to be a pawn in a plan masterminded by some militia officer?

" _Damn, damn, damn_ ," Kaukasios hurled his spent cigarette through the window and spat after it. The smell of smoke and flame was in the air along with a horrid odour of rotting fruit and gone-off cheese; at least that was what he made of it.

Subconsciously Kaukasios's hand began to tremble. His supreme confidence and elation at his plan succeeding had completely evaporated, replaced by the familiar cold fear he thought he'd bested. But it seemed he hadn't and now it was gripping him tighter than ever before, choking his mind, liquidating his spine. Scherder was out there somewhere and he was coming for him with a vengeance.

Lighting up again, Kaukasios struggled to keep his back straight as he marched back into the CP, wondering how the next few moves would play out between him and Scherder.

"Captain," Commissar Kazel was there, having also been privy to the message's contents.

"Commissar," Kaukasios pulled off his helmet and brushed the white dust from his face and hair. The political officer had done the impossible and managed to maintain his neatly pressed, immaculate uniform with not even the tiniest trace of dirt on his leather boots; a bold contrast to other officers as even Kaukasios' tailored field jacket had become creased and worn from the filthy conditions in the city.

"Sergeant Scherder is quite a resourceful man, Captain," Kazel said.

Kaukasios had a sudden thought. A gleam came into his eye as he rounded on the commissar. "Certainly, though the possibilities of a ruse are too great to accept this as truth. Relaying such a message to us is exactly the kind of low-down trick the militia would pull. I did not believe it when I read it; do you?"

"No, sir," Kazel clasped his hands behind his back and stared the captain down.

"The eastern perimeter will be where they come in. Tell me, would you be blamed if you opened fire on a group of men whom you did not recognise in the dark?"

"No, sir."

"No, sir," Kaukasios' eyes flickered over to the Commissar's orderly, the pillow-biter. "Could you check on the situation and take care of it for me please." Pacing around behind Kazel, Kaukasios continued in a low tone, "you do like Haven, don't you, on the beach, you and Gurd, together."

Kazel's eyes grew hard. Turning to face the officer, he was met with a smug smile. Powerless, Kazel picked up a Kantrael lascarbine from the table and, shooting one last malevolent glance at the puppeteer, left the CP.

Kaukasios' lip curled, Haven and the medal were still within reach. There was still hope.

* * *

Dawn was breaking, the dark grey skies slowly lightening, providing the tiny traces of light we needed for the assault.

Crouched beside the mortar, I peered through Sergeant Scherder's loaned binoculars at the Perf positions, awaiting the order to fire. The two tube men, Pihls and Ruark were still, ready to begin operating their piece. The tension of being so close to the enemy now forced the irritating headaches and numbness from my system. The shakes too had disappeared though I was still feeling far warmer than I should've been.

The assault group, leaving their packs and the vox with us, had used the blindness of the early hours to advance to within throwing distance of the enemy holes. The speed of the militia's advance had not allowed them to erect anything more formidable than basic fighting positions and a few firepits for howitzers that were dragged up the slope during the night. The barrels of these weapons, long fingers pointed skywards, could be seen when set against the skyline. Come the light these guns would begin their opening salvos, hurling shell after shell of 5.2 inch high explosive into the city; at least that was what the Perfs thought.

"You lads ready?" I asked the mortarmen.

"Say it," Pihls replied. He clutched a primed 2 inch shell, ready to hang it.

"Ready, Corp," Ruark waited by the mortar's sights, standing by to set them.

"'Kay, just gotta wait for the go." I watched Scherder's party advancing upwards, inching their way closer to the enemy positions, crawling hand and foot over the broken ground that had been tortured by steel and fire.

"Ready…" I tensed as the recognisable form of Scherder looked over his shoulder, raising a fist to ready us.

I signalled in reply. "Right, off you go."

Ruark set the sights and leant back, allowing Pihls to hang the round.

"Fire one," Ruark said.

Letting go of the round, Pihls dropped away and covered his face as the bomb slid down the inside of the tube, a half second's worth of silence then a loud _pop_ cut through the air.

"Seven seconds, watch for the round falling and call out corrections."

"Yep," my eyes were glued to the lenses. Those seven seconds with the round in mid-air seemed to take forever. Despite the report, the Perfs were none the wiser of our intentions.

Scherder and the rest were running in a low crouch now and closing in on the gun pits, exactly a second before the explosion they threw themselves flat and lay still.

The HE came in with no warning, exploding on the hillside well to the left of the nearest gun pit and too far back. At this, the assault group rose to their feet and readied grenades.

Quickly I guessed the corrections in my head and barked them to Ruark, "ten over, right thirty!"

"Fire two!" Ruark cried as Pihls hung the next round. Again the mortar spoke, hurling the next bomb skywards.

Grenades began to go off, giving the sleeping Perfs a rude awakening. Shots were fired by startled sentries at anything moving, including their own men. Rattles of Lecta's and sharp cracks of LAR's shattered the silence, if the Perfs hadn't cottoned onto the goings-on then they most definitely had by now.

The morning grew a whole lot brighter when the second round landed square inside a gun pit and touched off a stack of ammunition causing a shower of red sparks to shoot skywards, illuminating the entire front.

"Oh shit!" Pihls gaped, "good spotting, Corp."

Hearing the growing cacophony of battle, I snatched up my rifle, "you lads use up yer remaining rounds then follow me up, leave the piece, don't try drag it along with ye!"

"Right," Ruark adjusted the sights and prepared to fire again.

"Martti, hold your position!" I shouted, "I'm going up there."

Martti nodded and kept an eye on the surroundings.

Screams of agony came from the foxholes close to where the first round had hit. Stalking cautiously, I went closer to investigate.

A young Perf, no older than fifteen or sixteen, squatted on the ground with his trousers around his ankles and his bare backside exposed. The incoming round must have caught him mid-dump. His eyes were filled with unspeakable terror. I was on point of slotting him when I noticed that his left jaw had been shot off. He tried to say something to me with his half-mouth and his chin moved. Blood spurted in jets from a severed artery.

I braced myself against sentiment. There was nothing I could do for the boy except put him out of his misery. I raised my rifle but found his staring eyes locked on mine. Already filling with the shadows of death, they still pleaded for life. I stepped around him and examined the other foxholes. Each contained a body or two. One stirred; I shot it twice centre mass as a precaution.

The buzz of a zipper, its noise multiplied a hundredfold, came my way. Hitting the ground, I rolled to one side out of the gunner's sight. The fire was coming from my left, pouring down the hill at me rather than at the others who, presumably, were tearing through the gun pits, eliminating the Perf gunners and spiking any howitzers they came across.

At the sound of a moving body, I dropped down from where I was aiming and swung round, my finger half-squeezing the trigger of my rifle in anticipation for the attack from behind. It was Erkki.

He grinned. "What you trying to do, win yourself another Wounded Lion?" he asked.

"Where the others at?" I grabbed his sleeve and pulled him down beside me. "Bloody gun up there's chewing us up."

"They're knocking the big guns out, thought you needed a hand, that's all. Besides, got a brother to avenge," Erkki dropped a half-empty Lecta magazine and snapped a new one in.

"Shouldn't 'ave come up 'ere, it's dangerous."

"Why not, s'not a private war, is it?"

"I dunno."

"Me neither, c'mon," Erkki slapped me on the shoulder and pointed upwards to the left, "They can kill us but they can't eat us, that's against the law."

With Erkki leading, we started up the side of the hill, half-running, half-crawling through a ditch that protected us from the sweeping fire of the hidden stubber. Two Perfs came at us out of the darkness suddenly; firing at us point blank. A bullet clipped off part of Erkki's right ear, he never made a sound or even flinched. Whirling, he tapped his Lecta's trigger twice. The Perfs fell over dead, both with bloody holes in their foreheads.

Examining the wound, I saw the glint of blood running down the side of his face and dripping off his chin.

"Better hoof it back down to Martti and get it dressed," I said.

"And leave you? Nah, you're not gonna pull that on me."

"C'mon, stop being a brave idiot."

"Can't, I was born an idiot and haven't improved since. Where to?"

The stubber was feeling our position now and grenades were being tossed our way. The gully had turned decidedly unhealthy. Sliding up on our bellies, we located the stubber.

With Erkki laying bursts on the sandbags, I charged for the hole. At the bottom of the chest-deep pit, two Perfs sit with their heads between their knees. They never knew what hit them. Lowering my rifle, I shot both of them carefully in the head and waved to Erkki to come up. The moment he joined me another automatic opened up making us dive in on top of the two bodies.

Grinning, Erkki wiped the sweat and blood from his face with his sleeve.

"So what we gonna do now then?" he asked.

"Dunno, stay down."

"Shoulda looked it up in the Tactica."

A third delivery from the 2-inch came in further away, nearer to where Scherder's party were busy assaulting the Chaos trenches, their engagement far louder and aggressive than our stalled attack. Three of the howitzers were now out of action, either their ammunition was cooking off violently, setting the dawn ablaze, or they had holes blasted in their barrels with grenades.

"Scherder's 'aving a field day," I remarked, ducking as bullets popped a good two feet above us.

"Dunno 'bout that, day's still young," Erkki unclipped a grenade from his webbing and handed it to me. "Present for you."

"Be more of a danger to us than them with my crap arm."

"You can't be that bad, surely," Erkki wiggled the pin loose. "On three…"

Heaving the two hand grenades, we rose and emptied our weapons into the emplacement. Our action was followed by utter silence. Then the Perfs called out, "comrade!"

"They're surrendering, they think we're part of a big raiding party," Erkki peered over the edge of the hole. "I'll go get 'em."

"Keep down," I urged, "you can't trust 'em."

Erkki laughed. Clambering out of the hole nonchalantly he stood upright. That was all the enemy had been waiting for. I heard the brutal slash of stubber fire. As Erkki toppled back into the pit, he murmured softly, "Larn." Stunned, I lay for a moment with the two dead Perfs beneath me and my friend on top.

"Why didn't you stay down?" I asked him. "Erkki…?"

Sliding out from underneath him, I grabbed his wrist but there was no beat to his pulse. I was all alone and the hill I was on rattled with fire.

For the first time in my war, I refused to accept facts. While Erkki grew cold beneath my hand, I kept telling myself, "He isn't dead. He can't be dead, because if he is dead then the war is all wrong; and Erkki Makala had died in vain."

Then I got the curious notion that ne needed air. I lifted the body from the hole and stretched it out. Why I was not shot during the process I have never understood. Instinctively I spun about to find a stubber being trained on me a few yards to my right. I leapt back into the hole, jerked the pin from a grenade, and threw it.

At its blast, I scrambled from the pit with my LAR. But, for once, my aim was good. One of the two Perfs had had his chest torn open, the other had been killed by a fragment that pierced his eye.

Their weapon, sitting on its bipod with the butt lying on the floor of the hole I eyed. It was a Vraks pattern stubber, air-cooled and fed with a long belt of cartridges. Picking it up, I methodically checked it for damage. It was in perfect condition. Leaving my rifle, I hoisted the stubber up and pulled the sling over my shoulder.

I remembered the experience only in nightmares. A cruel, merciless being seemed to have entered my body. My brain was coldly alert and logical. I did not think of the danger to myself as my whole being was concentrated on killing.

The Perfs on the hill, either hiding in holes or moving about trying to find the source of the danger did not notice me as I approached. The gun crew that betrayed Erkki was somewhere amongst them. They too did not see me, giving me careful time to set up and take proper aim.

Squeezing the trigger, I felt the nasty kickback punch my shoulder. The terrific rate of fire made individual shots indiscernible, it was so fast. Any Perfs caught by the unending stream of lead were killed instantly.

Coming under fire again, I caught sight of three other stubber emplacements, one of which had to have killed Erkki. All three guns were firing out into no-man's land, convinced of an incoming attack. Instead of setting up, I ran across the open ground.

Riflemen on the flanks, seeing my lone advance turned to fire, prompting me to respond. Their lacerated bodies flopped and squirmed.

Coming up on the lip of the emplacement, I pointed the stubber downwards and raked the gunners. I did not stop firing while there was a quiver left in them.

Leaving the pit streaked with blood, body parts and entrails, I noticed a group of unarmed Perfs that had been in the gun pits fleeing from my onslaught. Swinging the stubber from the hip, I watched the bullets punch tracks along the ground, sweeping away every single one. Shouts of terror were drowned out by the buzz as more and more Perfs fell. I only stopped when my ammo ran out, and it was a long belt.

Letting the smoking weapon fall from my grip, I felt a sharp pain in my stomach. My flak jacket had come unbuttoned, exposing my jacket to the weapon's kick. In trying to keep it on target, it appeared I had strained my stomach muscles. My right hand had felt the great heat from the barrel which was almost red hot from the sustained firing.

* * *

Everything had gone quiet on my side of the hill. The Perfs had been cowed or completely routed. Heading vaguely back in the direction of Erkki, I heard the voices of men nearby. They came to me through a thick wall. My hands began to tremble and I felt suddenly weak. Sinking to the ground, I removed all of Erkki's personal effects, what little he hadn't disposed of already, and cried like a baby.

Martti found me wiping my eyes clear. Seeing Erkki lying in the hole, he put a hand under my armpit and gently pulled me to my feet.

"C'mon, Larn," he said consolingly, "we're going home, Scherder's waiting."

"Where's the mortarmen," I mumbled, vaguely registering only Martti's presence.

"Perfs came up behind us, gave us blazes. One of 'em went down, Pihls I think. We lost the packs. I managed to grab yours and the vox though."

"Erkki's dead."

"Yeah, I know, pal, I know."

"Erkki's dead."

"S'okay, let's move, move fast," Martti pulled me along harder. "Perfs are coming."

"Erkki's dead. I cleared the hill."

"Yeah, you cleared the hill."

"It's not cleared of Erkki."

"It never will be."

Scherder, Antic, Rauer, Stimm, Valero and Ruark were guarding two dozen prisoners that had been herded together in a gunpit when Martti and I showed up.

"Where the hell have you been?" Scherder hissed, beckoning us over.

"Found Larn and Erkki over by the hill on the left, Larn's cleared it."

"Where's Erkki?"

"Dead," I said casually. The rage had left me. Again I looked at the Perfs as an enemy to be hated only impersonally. Again I saw the war as it was: an endless series of problems involving the blood and guts of men. And I accepted the mysterious workings of destiny as I had done the previous day.

"Stimm, got your horn," Martti shrugged the pack from his shoulders and passed it to Stimm.

"Thanks," Stimm nodded. His face was a mask of dirt and blood with only his wide eyes recognisable. Everyone looked like that now.

"Had to leave the packs, sorry," Martti said. "Here, James, yours," he worked the straps of my small pack through my arms. "Still got the starlight in it."

I started on him using my first name and looked around confusedly, not knowing where I was for a second.

"Where's your bundook?"

"Uhh…" I found coherent speech an impossibility. The shakes had begun to return. Trembling, I bowed my head and grunted.

"Got your pistol?"

"Mmm-hmm," acknowledging him like a savage, my hands worked the automatic from its holster.

"Good lad," Martti grinned.

"Right, we move, move now!" Scherder jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll go first. Prisoners down the middle, look lively!"

"Sergeant, I go first," Antic said.

"No goddamn you, Antic," Scherder groaned. "I lead, you follow. I'm responsible for you."

"No, Scherder, you've brought us this far. This time, we are responsible for you."

Scherder glanced at Rauer. A slow smile spread across the latter's face.

"Alright, take us in."

* * *

"Commissar, look here!"

Hyram Kazel heard the shout and clambered up onto a firestep beside the rifleman whose voice he had heard. "What is it?"

"Look, Commissar," the Nerian passed him pair of field glasses.

Resting his elbows on the hardbags, Kazel squinted through the dirty lenses. Through the smoke he saw a group of prisoners being escorted towards the wire by a handful of ragged imperial soldiers. Watching their progress closely, Kazel recognised the tall, grey-haired man wearing field cap and windproof.

"Welcome, Sergeant Scherder…" he whispered, "my passage home."

 _Kill Scherder_ , Kaukasios had all but said. Kill Scherder and the aristocrat would use his influence to lift Kazel and Gurd from the frontline and get them posted back to the safety of Haven.

"Yes…" Kazel's lips twitched. "Come towards me."

* * *

Cojen Scherder, at the rear of the marching file of prisoners turned and walked backwards for a few paces, checking behind for any signs of the Perfs. The shock of the surprise attack had stunned the enemy but it was only a matter of time before they recovered, and Scherder did not want to be caught in no-man's land, inbetween the two armies, when they did.

"Slowly, lads," Scherder said to Martti and Larn who were closeby. "Watch your spacing."

Martti acknowledged with a simple nod and motioned to Larn to widen the gap between them. Larn, an intense, faraway look in his eyes, shuffled away.

Up on the point, Antic gripped his Lecta tightly, his hands sweating. "Dynamo!" he shouted, willing his words to carry to the ears of the defenders. "Scherder's coming in!"

"Hold your fire!" Rauer bellowed.

Scherder tensed as a faraway moan increased in volume, rapidly growing to a screaming pitch. "Barrage, get down!" he cried.

Cohesion was lost when artillery exploded nearby, flattening everyone. Wire was shredded, wooden barricades upended and crusty earth was flung hundreds of feet into the sky.

Kazel jumped into a covered bunker the instant the first shells landed. The crew manning a tripod-mounted stubber hastily assumed their positions to appear alert.

"Perfs in front, Commissar," a Nerian lance corporal, Berner, passed a set of glasses to Kazel.

"Get ready to fire," Kazel ordered.

"Some of our lads are bringing 'em in, Commissar," the assistant gunner said.

"It might be a trap, standby to fire," Kazel pointed his lascarbine at the gunners. "Do as I say!"

"Yes, Commissar," Berner racked the stubber's action and flipped the sights up.

Scherder, pressed against the side of a concrete tank trap, called to Antic, "Antic, move 'em out!"

"Come on!" Antic exhorted the terrified Perfs to get to their feet and follow him.

"Go, go!" Scherder spurred Martti and Larn forwards. "It's alright, you'll be alright."

Antic tore between wooden spikes, coils of wire and barriers, hurling himself towards the safety of the trenchline, screaming, "Dynamo!" over and over.

Kazel watched Antic stray into the path of Berner's stubber, waiting. Then, when Antic was certain he'd make it, Kazel gave the command.

"FIRE!"

Ripping through wood and steel, the bullets punched into the tightly-grouped Perfs, sweeping them away as if they were nothing. The soldiers with them broke formation and ran, frantically zigzagging to avoid the murderous hail of lead zipping through the air.

"DYNAMO!" Antic shouted himself hoarse, holding his weapon in the air in a gesture of surrender.

"It's a trap, fire!" Kazel pointed at Antic. "Do it!"

"PLEASE!" Antic lurched backwards, hit in the legs and stomach, against a coil of razorwire, trapping him in its embrace.

"We're imperial soldiers!" Rauer spun around and collapsed on his knees, blood spurting from his throat.

Scherder's blood turned to water. Powerless and forced to hide at the rear, he filled his lungs and let out a rage-filled cry, "NO, DAMN YOU!"

"Stop it, we surrender!" Stimm, rushing to Rauer's aid, jerked back and slumped against him, shot in the head.

"Those fucking idiots!" Valero snarled, cradling Ruark's body. Snatching up a Lecta, Valero ran from cover and fired, spraying the bunker where the fire was coming from.

"Jammed, it's jammed!" Berner cried, ducking as bullets punched holes in the rear of the dugout.

"Keep firing!" Kazel jabbed the gunners with the muzzle of his lascarbine.

Frightened of the armed commissar behind him, Berner cleared the weapon and squeezed the trigger.

"That's an imperial soldier!" his assistant cried. "We're shooting our own men!"

"Traitor!" Kazel shot him and kicked his body aside. "Shoot!"

Berner fired, catching Valero in his sights.

"NO!" Valero fell.

"GODDAMN YOU!" Scherder ran, heedless of the danger, through the smoke and burning wreckage. Larn and Martti, both unarmed, followed in his wake.

"Fire!" Kazel tried to take control of the stubber himself but was shoved aside by Berner. "They're traitors," he protested but was hauled from the bunker.

"Pick Antic up!" Scherder yelled to Larn and Martti. Antic, trapped on the wire was screeching in pain and flailing about.

"That's Scherder!" Berner gasped, recognising the man he had been firing on. "Oh my god…"

"S'alright, pal, we're getting you outta here," Larn pried the sharp spikes from where they held Antic. "Martti, help me!"

"C'mon, Antic, we're going home," Martti got him under the armpits and lifted him up.

"Bastards, emperor-fucking swine!" Scherder made for the trenchline. "Who is responsible?" he aimed his Lecta at the occupants.

"It was all Kaukasios," a familiar, high-pitched voice replied.

"Move, all of you, out!" Scherder fired a burst into the air, clearing the way between him and Kazel.

More artillery began to fall. Larn and Martti staggered in, carrying the dying Antic between them.

"My men are out there," Scherder barked angrily, "STRETCHER BEARERS!"

The sudden shout made the Nerians spring into action, hastening through the wire to retrieve the fallen.

"You bloody swine," Larn growled, gently laying Antic down. "Swine…" He and Martti fell silent when they saw Antic's eyes had rolled up into his head.

"It was all Kaukasios' orders, I had no choice," Kazel's grip slackened on his weapon, letting it drop to the floor.

"We're sorry." Berner, seeing what he had been forced to do, was crying.

Larn and Martti, leaving Antic, collapsed to their knees beside the wall. "He's dead."

"I had no choice!" Kazel's right hand rested near his holstered laspistol.

Scherder's expression was livid, his teeth were clenched. A mad gleam had come into his eyes. The faces of every single friend he had seen killed flicked through his mind. Their smiling, happy faces replaced with the dull, lifeless stares of dead men. And it was all Kaukasios' fault.

"I had no choice…" Kazel's hand moved. It never cleared the holster.

Holding his Lecta's trigger down, Scherder poured an anger-filled burst of lead into the commissar's body, propelling him back into the trench wall. He was deaf to Kazel's whimpers.

Berner and whoever else were nearby scrambled out Scherder's sight. Larn and Martti shrunk back in fear of the sergeant. But he wasn't finished yet.

Aiming down at the hateful black uniform spattered with blood, Scherder emptied the rest of his magazine, never saying a word as bullet after bullet ripped into leather, flesh, muscle and bone. The red sash the commissar wore around his waist grew darker and darker. By the time the Lecta clicked dry, the thing at the bottom of the trench was in pieces; black leather and blood.

* * *

The wordless, revenge-driven execution stunned Martti and I. Mutely we sat on the brim of the hardbags, both devastated by the slaughter of our comrades. My hand strayed to my unbuttoned collar and felt the tender hole in my breast and what was inside me; a reminder I wasn't going much further.

Erkki's death had numbed me, but the others being casually gunned down, by our own side as well, sucked all warmth from my soul, draining it, leaving it naked and cold.

Martti jumped, hearing a loud _clack_ as Scherder pulled free his spent magazine and loaded a new one.

"Find another unit to hook up with…" Scherder muttered. "Desert, doesn't matter…"

I realised with growing horror exactly what he was intending to do. "Don't, don't…" I pleaded.

"Sorry, Larn," Scherder cocked his Lecta and hoisted himself out from the trench.

I grabbed him by the arm and held on, "where ye going, yer our platoon leader!"

Scherder regarded us with hollow, empty eyes, "…you are sergeant now, Larn. And Martti is your platoon."

"No, no," Martti sobbed, "don't leave us here."

"I know yer gonna go for 'im, don't, bloody don't…"

"I go to pay my debts, Sergeant," Scherder laid a hand on my shoulder. "Do you understand?"

"No, Sarn't, I don't," my face cracked. Tears filled my eyes.

"Save yourselves, this is my final order to you," Scherder stepped away and raised a hand in farewell. "Save yourselves."

Of Cojen Scherder, we never saw him again. Presumably he died, forgotten, in battle. His myth lived on forever.


	35. Chapter 34

?:?/M41/03-40.999/Fort Sturnn/Nemesis Tessera/Nemesis System/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

Damp grew up the walls, a product of excess moisture. It made Izuru wonder whether there was a leaking pipe somewhere.

Sitting on an iron chair bolted the floor, opposite a table with a similar seat, Izuru waited patiently for the audience with the humans. It had to come soon, it must come soon. _Too much time has already been wasted; too many lives…_

The absence of Keladi troubled Izuru but it was her inability to call out to her with her mind that really disturbed her. She felt a gnawing guilt over the Black Guardians that had been gunned down so indifferently, and especially Anon, left buried, possibly still alive. All of it weighed heavy on her heart.

Standing, Izuru brushed a pale hand along the damp wall, feeling a slight tremble of energy that rippled underneath her fingers.

 _Of course, the walls are psyker-proof._

Since being rendered unconscious at the checkpoint, Izuru had had no contact with anyone, being kept under for the journey to wherever the imperial headquarters was, at least, that was where she hoped they had brought her. She had regained consciousness in the chair and had been there since.

A sharp grinding of gears coming from the heavy, blastproof door put her on guard. Sitting up straight, Izuru arranged her hands in her lap and set her expression.

A hiss of hydraulics preceded the rising steel. Underneath it a human wearing a clean khaki officer's tunic with a brown leather crossbelt appeared. Two armed guardsmen carrying shock batons flanked him. They remained on guard outside.

Waiting for the door to seal behind him, the officer removed his cap and took the chair opposite Izuru. Her first impression was of a handsome man past his prime who had gone on to disfigure himself with too many mechanical implants. His haircut – shaved bald on the sides with only the crown remaining – did nothing to further his looks. The red-tinted eye grafted in place of his right eye blinked beadily. Coils attached to it ran around to the back of his neck; they squeaked gently.

 _Why do they do that to themselves?_ she thought, keeping her face impassive. _It must be something to do with their Machine God, the Omnissiah; such rubbish to believe in._

The officer carefully arranged a small green box with buttons in front of him. Alongside it he set a slate with stylus and an ashtray. His finger hovered above a key briefly as if considering something.

Izuru blinked once when the human offered her a Lho-stick, _certainly not_ , she thought. The Lho-stick, made of a rolled paper tube containing a scented plant-derived substance, offered a mildly narcotic sensation and was far less potent than some of the plants her species' grew specifically for that purpose. She had never partaken in it, and never would.

Inclining his head a fraction, the human flicked open a lighter, igniting a tiny finger of flame, and lit up, setting his device to record as he did.

"60435379, Prutt, Major, prisoner interrogation, session number one," Major Prutt spoke in a clipped tone that irritated Izuru somewhat. It was as if, in speaking as precisely and clearly as possible, Prutt was demonstrating his species' superiority over hers.

"State your name and affiliation," Prutt said after pressing the record button.

"My name is Izuru Numerial. I am an emissary representing the Craftworld of Ulthwé."

"Your purpose, Xeno."

"My Chief Farseer wishes a ceasefire be put in effect between our races. It is imperative we stop killing each other and instead work together to combat Chaos. I do not come to you as an enemy."

Major Prutt stared at her, keeping a tight guard on his features.

Izuru continued, "Do you not know what is coming? A host of warships, far eclipsing the size of Ulthwé's fleet as well as yours, makes for Cadia. Already they have overrun Urthwart, Nereus and Saint Josmane's Hope with ease while you sit idle waiting for them to destroy you too. How long do you think you can hold out for? Your navy has abandoned you, your tanks are destroyed; the Marines will not save you here."

Leaning back in his chair, Major Prutt took a lazy drag from his Lho-stick, not in the least bit concerned, "put yourself in my shoes, Xeno, if you are capable of doing that. Were I a Xeno – Emperor forbid— and I came to you with an offer of a truce… would I believe you?"

"Well perhaps it is time to turn a new page, start afresh. Times are changing, Major, age-old enemies become friends, and longtime allies seek your annihilation."

"Speak sense, Xeno."

"Listen to me. Not four months ago I worked alongside the Imperial Guard on Grendel. We had a truce in play, one that worked admirably for the time we spent in each other's company. The Guard's performance impressed both I and my Farseer. I must say you humans made of much sterner material than I previously thought."

"Am I right in saying this Imperial Guard unit went rogue and joined forces with you illegally?" Prutt scribbled on his slate.

"Circumstances forced them into allying with me. They were in deadly danger from a band of Eldar Corsairs, the Void Dragons, whose commander I had been tasked with assassinating."

"An assassin, now this makes more sense," Prutt's eyebrows shot up. "And you were sent here to assassinate the general?"

"I have no interest in your general or this sideshow, for that is all this is. The main Chaos fleet is leaving the system, only a small fragment remains in orbit. As we speak Ulthwé's space fleet is currently engaging them. We are trying to help you, if you will let us."

"Tell me more about the men who aided you, why they did not shoot you on sight as they should have done."

"I approached them as I did your forces, with hands raised."

"What influence did you cast over them?"

"No influence, I assure you, my intentions were good."

"I need names, ranks, numbers, anything."

"There is only one I can remember, surname Larn, rank lance corporal."

"Unit?" Prutt consulted his slate.

"Alderian Royal Guards."

"Hm, curious, that is a coincidence…" Prutt muttered. "Larn, Arvin J, 84593820, transferred to Nerian 228th as OR last month."

Izuru's mouth went dry. Remaining stone-faced, she asked, "the one I speak of, he is here, on Nemtess?" It was an impossible coincidence.

"Currently serving in C Company, 1 Neria… declared missing in action," Prutt looked up at her frankly. "The corporal is among hundreds of personnel misplaced during the retreat to the capital. Anyway, familiar with the Imperial Guard or not you are still a Xeno and one of a species renowned for their ability to deceive and confound."

Refraining from rolling her eyes, Izuru said, "were we interested in your destruction we could have simply watched from afar and done nothing. Make no mistake; we are here to help you."

"Maybe we do not want your help. Ask yourself, would I be ready to jump into bed willingly with Xenos filth?"

"You have—"

"—rhetorical question," Prutt said coldly. "The Imperium has held the Cadian gate for ten-thousand years we will hold it for ten-thousand more. No amount of unclean heretics and disgusting creatures like yourself will dissuade us from that. We have a holy mandate from the Emperor himself to stand our ground and we die gloriously in his name doing it."

 _You fanatical idiot,_ Izuru stirred, her eyes darkening. "Clearly you have not seen firsthand what is coming. Ships of all classes, from the tiniest corvette to the largest battleship, in their thousands, sweep through sector after sector uncontested. Among their number is a vessel larger than anything your human fleets can produce; a Blackstone Fortress. Not since the Gothic War 839 standard years ago has such a nightmare been seen by human eyes." Izuru leant forwards, her tone pleading, "I _must_ speak with your commanding officer. Only together can we hope to destroy the threat of Chaos."

"General Vorbeck is a very busy man. He is in the middle of running a war and very much dislikes Xenos scum sticking their noses in where they are not welcome; thank you."

"If you refuse our offer you will die," Izuru said shortly. "No one is coming to save you. There is nothing you can do alone."

"We have our faith. Faith alone is what keeps the Imperium together and faith will preserve us in the coming storm."

Izuru fought to control her growing frustration. "Tell me, Major, have you ever commanded troops in the field?"

"I am an intelligence officer…"

"No then. Have you ever served in a forward area?"

"It is not my job to…"

"No then. Are you aware of the current situation outside these walls?"

"The Imperial Guard is holding steady and winning in areas of strategic importance to the Imperium—"

"—tear the veil from your eyes!" Izuru rose, her eyes blazing. Planting her fists on the sticky table, she fixed the pale-faced officer with an infuriated glare. "Ignorance is barely holding the Imperium together, not faith. These daemons do not wish to merely take your worlds. They seek the complete and utter extermination of your race; from the Emperor all the way down to the tiniest child. If we do not act, everything you know, everything you hold dear to you will be ashes. Pull the wool from your eyes and see reality! It may not be pretty but it is leagues better than living in blissful ignorance."

Major Prutt, cowed into silence, mumbled, "I can do nothing, I am in intelligence, it's not my responsibility…"

"In my experience, all it takes is the action of one man, one man alone to make a difference. Major, you have to act now, tell your general an envoy from the Eldar requests an audience with him as soon as is possible; does that make sense?"

"I might be able to pass word to his headquarters," Prutt said sheepishly.

"And what of my charge?"

"Who?"

"The other I was brought in with, she has red hair and a bandaged eye."

"I, I could not say," Prutt shook his head.

"Find out for me would you, Major?"

"I will do my best, but do not hope for anything," Prutt clicked the recorder without bothering to sign off. "I must go now. I shall be gone some time."

"With haste, Major; lives depend on it."

Major Prutt scooped up his things and departed, leaving Izuru with the rising damp and her thoughts. Keladi was missing but Larn was alive and on Nemtess. Such a coincidence was surely the work of a higher power. Izuru was not a superstitious person, having a practical, realist's outlook on life, but this coincidence was too great to pass up.

 _Why are our paths linked, human?_ _What is it that binds our fate?_

* * *

 _Karamaya…_

Clouds had rolled in, cutting out the sunlight. Soon snow was falling with artillery quickly following. The on-off bombardment made movement nigh-impossible such were the sudden and ferocious barrages that stamped across the waste and through the city streets.

The Perfs, after licking their wounds, were now hitting back at us with a renewed vigour. Each explosion was a reprisal for the sneak raid and the vicious hiding we had dealt which had soured their ego.

Martti and I huddled together underneath a blanket trying to find some warmth. We were still in the frontline trenches along with scraps from – I think – 3 Platoon. 2 Platoon was gone and no one knew where 1 Platoon was. There were so many gaps in the line, many of them hundreds of yards apart. Intact units no longer existed.

Earlier I had gone looking for someone who looked like they were in charge, an officer, an NCO, anyone that had some grasp of the situation.

The Perfs, possessing an uncanny ability to predict when someone was moving, opened up from the high ground they occupied with plunging fire directed at us.

Despite the considerable range I felt the rounds from the stubbers and occasional 20 millimetre autocannon making the telltale, metallic snap-hiss as they passed above my head to smack into the ruined buildings twenty yards behind our positions.

A gun team manning a Rekyl .30 calibre stubber were busily responding to the incoming fire but were fighting a losing battle in that they had to elevate their sights to an extreme distance in compensation for firing uphill. The Perfs were having no such trouble shooting leisurely down from their perches.

"Reload!" I heard the gunner shout at his assistant as the Rekyl clicked empty.

Reaching across, the assistant gunner yanked the steel free and reached for a full load from several he had laid along the parapet. I heard a wet smack and saw a spray of blood come from his body. The man slumped against the trench wall and did not move.

"Dammit!" the gunner bawled, trying to reach around the gun to grab the ammunition.

"Here," I picked up a loaded magazine and slotted it into the top of the gun.

Without a word of thanks, the Nerian pulled the crank to chamber the Rekyl and resumed firing.

"Where's yer CO?" I shouted to him over the noise.

"Uh?" he glanced sidelong at me, his hearing reduced by the gunfire and explosions.

"CO?"

"Dead."

"Sarn't?"

"Dead, all dead, every officer, non-com, all gone…" he paused and cleared a jam before continuing. "'Bout twenty of us left out of 150, C Company's on its own out 'ere!"

"No non-coms?" I asked, fearful that I was the ranking NCO present.

"No, why?" his white eyes, set in his blackened, soot streaked face flicked over to me.

"I'm Larn, I'm corporal."

"Then you're in command here," the Nerian thumped me on the arm. "You're Sergeant!"

"I can't be…" I began before the gunner cut me off.

"I'm Aimo. I'm holding the left flank here. You've got some of the lads over on the right with you."

"A-anyone else?"

"No, just us, twenty—" Aimo prodded his deceased assistant with his boot, "—Nineteen rifles and automatics."

"Okay," I rubbed my hands together, trying to think like a sergeant. "Uhh, what d'you need?"

"Relief! I've been strung out here for seventeen hours straight."

"Food, water, ammo?"

"We got no food, no water, ammo's runnin' low," Aimo replied, jerking the spent magazine free and taking the one I offered to him.

"You gonna be alright here for now?" I asked, ducking from the buzz of rounds overhead.

"Long as they don't attack in force, yeah, where you going?"

"Gonna find some more ammo for you."

"Don't be gone too long!"

On my way back to Martti I bumped into a cook carrying a metal canister on his back.

"This C Company?" the cook asked.

"Yeah, we're selling it cheap today," I said dryly, pushing the cook down onto his knees out of sight of Perf eyes. "Who're you?"

"I, I bought food," the cook wiggled the canister, sounding very much like there was liquid on the inside.

"Oi, pass it down," I hissed to those nearby. "Scran's here. Come and get it."

"B-but, we bought food for 150," the cook stammered when all nineteen of us had been summoned.

"But 'ow could you have…?" I looked at the soup canister in disbelief.

"There are two more on their way…" the cook clapped a hand over his mouth when he realised he'd made a dreadful mistake.

"C'mon," I hustled him back through the trenches, pursued by a gang of hungry men. "Tell us where it is and we won't lynch ye."

The petrified cook, by the smell of it proceeded to soil his pants. He proved to be very cooperative and quite soon we were gorging ourselves on thin stew in the shelter of basement protected by a thick, concrete ceiling. The food, however distasteful, put some warmth back into us. If anything, it helped to numb the pain in my chest making it tolerable for the time being.

"Oi, saved some for ye," I passed a steaming mess tin to Aimo on our return to the line. He alone had remained at his post watching for Perf activity.

"Thank you, Sarn't," he nodded stoically.

"I'm not Sarn't," I grunted, peering through the glasses I had forgotten to return to Scherder.

"You're not far off, Corp."

"Hmph, yeah, not far off."

"Still do with some ammo…"

Though reluctant to move, I pushed myself upwards and hurried back through the trench.

"Wha' we doing now, Larn?" Martti stirred from underneath his blanket.

"Going for ammo, we need it badly," I replied, wiping clean my runny nose.

"How much you got left?"

"'Bout a dozen in my pistol, everyone else is low too."

"My feet hurt."

"Alright, boots off, lemme look," I threw the blanket off Martti, leaving him shivering in his OG combats and flak vest.

"Really, now, what if we have to run?"

"Off," I snapped my numb fingers, producing a rather pathetic noise.

"Fine," Martti unwound his puttees and pulled at his laces, working the scuffed boots from his feet.

"Socks too."

"Haven't taken 'em off in days…" Martti winced as he tugged his damp socks off.

Both of Martti's feet had turned white, the colour deserting them. Neither foot showed signs of being affected by erythema or cyanosis – the first stages of immersion foot – where the former would cause the feet to turn red and the latter would make them turn blue. The trick to preventing it was to keep the feet warm and dry, a tall order in the wet environment and with insufficiently waterproof footwear to boot.

"Can you feel 'em?" I asked.

"A little bit," Martti wiggled his toes. "There, seems alright."

"Then what were ye complaining about then?"

"I dunno, just felt like a complain."

"Right, well keep yer feet dry as best ye can. Try to dry yer socks out and rotate wearing different pairs."

"I only got the one pair."

"Might 'ave another, hang on," I undid the clasps of my pack and rummaged around. What little space that wasn't taken up by the starlight contained my housewife, toothbrush, folded-up blanket, a spare pair of grollies and some socks.

"Here, get these on yer feet," I slapped the pair of socks in Martti's lap.

"What about you?"

"Gotta look out for the platoon, 'aven't I?"

"You mean me?" Martti replaced his wet socks with the dry pair and quickly sorted his footwear out, swearing under his breath.

"The platoon, yeah."

"How 'bout yours," Martti nodded at my feet.

"Couldn't hurt," I shrugged.

We reversed roles. Letting Martti examine my feet, I kept an eye and both ears on the distant high ground.

Thousands of feet above us, the drone jet engines heralded a flight of bombers that were on their way into Karamaya. Having no interest in us the bombers flew on, their targets far away from the frontline, to our immense relief. Anti-aircraft batteries, autocannons and heavier triple-A were soon filling the sky with little black clouds. Their determined defence did little to deter the Chaos fliers which flew on undeterred to deliver their payloads.

"Why can't the Navy just clobber the Perfs?" Martti complained, more to do with the Perfs on the ground than in the air.

"Nah, they're off whoopin' it up on Haven, mate, can't depend on the flyers. But maybe a tank—yeah a tank oughta be able to do the job, 'cept—"

"'Cept what?"

"'Cept a tank's never round when ye need it. Might 'ave some arty sitting around somewhere."

"Then why don't it get busy?"

"The Planks mean well – course they do – but they couldn't hit the broadside o' one o' my barns back 'ome."

"We're always it."

"Poor bloody infantry, always it, that's us."

"Just gotta stick with it," Martti said, grinning.

"That's the spirit. Just 'member, there ain't no other branch o' the Guard that offers so many chances o' the Wounded Grox, the Order o' the Pillock, the Imperial Order o' the Mattress Cover. Ye wanna be decorated, don't ye?" I asked, scrambling down beside Martti at the sound of incoming artillery.

"I'd like to be decorated with a discharge!" Martti screamed in my ear.

"Done!" I replied, springing up with renewed energy and tearing off towards the rear to look for ammunition.

My burst of energy provided by the hot meal was very quickly spent, forcing me to stop and sit down for a moment to catch my breath.

Karamaya was quiet aside from shells bursting and the roar of jet engines overhead. The civilian populace had either fled or sought shelter underground. At this point basements were all that was left of the tall hab-blocks, all of them having been pounded into the ground, leaving massive piles of rubble clustered around the foundations. The few walls left standing, like in the town we had passed through on the march back were bare and windowless, the glass panes blown outwards, scattered on the streets below.

Sights of importance to the Imperium had been targeted specifically. Administratum buildings, shrines and cathedrals to the Machine God, the Ecclesiarchy and the Emperor, all were bombed-out wrecks with scarcely a single aquila or statue left touched in their walls.

Signs of looting and vandalism were present. What little had escaped the bombing and the shelling had been subject to defacement by civilians or deserting soldiers fleeing from the Chaos Army.

Strangely, imperial credits littered the streets, hundreds of thousands of credits just left lying about, and no one had bothered to take any of it for themselves.

 _Is it really that far gone?_ I stared at the money, questioning whether what I was seeing was real.

I found an answer to my question when I ducked inside a building after the street I was on became a target for artillery. It hit me before I even saw it, the collective smell of hundreds of wounded men.

Imagine a gigantic pile of over-ripe fruit that has been sitting out in the sun for too long. Add several heaps of mouldy, gone-off cheese to that then, atop it, roasted slices of human flesh. That is what I smelt. It was Broucheroc, only worse.

Row after row of sick and dying men lay on the broken floor, sat on the remains of staircases or perched atop fallen pillars listening to the explosions in the street outside. Not a single one had been treated for their injuries, which had been left to fester and slowly turn gangrenous. Maggots wallowed in the piles of red mush where arms and legs had once been. Vermin ran amok, congregating on corpses to devour. Flies buzzed in the air.

Half-in, half-out of the hole in the wall, I stood on the edge of what had been the ground floor and sidestepped down a steep slope to the basement where the wounded were arranged; ensuring I had a scarf tied around my mouth beforehand.

A sharp click coming from a corner made me whip out my stub pistol and thumb the safety off.

"For the Emperor?" a voice growled.

"Yeah, for the Emperor…" I replied, keeping my weapon pointed at the source of the noise.

"Had you figured for Perfs," a Nerian with severe shrapnel wounds to both legs lowered the laspistol he brandished and hobbled towards me on crutches. He was scarred, balding and possessed a severe overbite with wonky teeth and a week's growth of beard.

I sunk against a foundation post and sipped my pistol into its holster, suddenly overcome with nausea.

"Welcome friend. I am sorry but this accommodation has full booking, you'd best look elsewhere if you desire a hot meal."

"I'm not wounded," I lied. "We need ammo on the line."

"None of that here," the Nerian shook his head. "Though, if I might suggest, a nice lunch with a pint is just down the street from here; follow your nose. If it is a bed you desire then they can be found in abundance in Karamaya, arctic jewel of the Nemesis System," the Nerian laughed, taking a swig from a tall bottle, spilling brown liquid down his chin.

By the look of things he was quite drunk.

Beating a silent retreat I left the corpse-farm and came back out into the fresh air, the foul stench of the wounded men still occupying my nasal passages.

I did not know what to make of that, it was simply too ghastly to comprehend. That many men left to die from starvation and disease was inhuman, maybe something the Perfs would do but not our lot surely.

The creaking rope was audible well before I discovered the body swinging gently at the end of it.

A commissar dangled by his neck from beneath a fractured overpass, his pockmarked face grey and lifeless. The stains on the seat of his leather breeches and the smell suggested he void his bowels during the struggle against the rope.

Looters had been and gone, taking the man's boots, cape and cap then leaving him strung up. A wooden board hung around his neck read: _COMMISSAR_. The letters written in blood. I had not the slightest bit of sympathy for political officers anymore; this one no exception.

 _Good riddance_ , I thought, turning my back.

Further into the deserted city there were signs of recent destruction, small fires burned, and more buildings had been brought down by the bombing.

A few men from other regiments roved about in bands, disjointed and leaderless, their officers missing or dead. With the strict chain of command gone these nineteen and twenty-year olds' had ceased being soldiers and were devolving into scavengers combing the dead city for any means of sustenance and warmth.

My appearance put the deserters visibly on edge. For a beat I was baffled when they quickly dispersed and fled. A second passed and I felt the ground tremble. The clatter of steel tracks and the roar of an engine was growing louder and louder. A tank announced itself by barrelling though a forest of splintered wooden beams that stuck out like spines from the collapsed row of houses.

Alone in the street I stepped to one side to allow the tank to pass. Against my expectations it ground to a halt beside me.

A sharp whistle came from above, the noise from the tank commander's mouth. I gazed at the bruised, scarred man wearing the round bone dome on his head, my memory turning over and over in an attempt to recall the man.

"Thought I saw a light!" Otto Rinek waved a hand, inviting me aboard. "Come on, up you get."

Requiring a good deal more effort than it had done before, I climbed up onto Bomb's engine deck and steadied myself on the turret.

"Turns out I did," Rinek stuck out his hand.

Clasping the worn leather, I shook wearily. "'Ow's things?"

"Doing alright, you grunts?"

"Strung out, cold and hungry," I said. "We need ammo, relief, everything we don't have. Where you headed?"

"The line, we've been trying to find B Company for an hour now, just all these streets are wrecked and littered with bloody great holes. So as you can imagine it's just been impossible to find our way out of the city."

I leant against Bomb's .50 calibre stubber, panting, "C Company's down to twenty men, we dunno where A or B are, we're manning a huge stretch of line… if the Perfs so much as sneeze at us we'll be turfed out."

"You got problems then?"

"Nothing new."

"Would a tank help?"

Nodding gratefully, I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck, "please, Corp, it'd make a hell of a difference."

"You alright, Larn, you're pale," Rinek looked at my tired, drawn face concernedly.

"Cold, only just got back to our lines, we got left behind when our lot pulled out."

"Right…" Rinek didn't sound convinced.

"We'd be really grateful for yer help."

"Done," he said without hesitation. Keying his mic, he ordered the driver forward.

"Crew still together, Ozzi, Teren, Golli?"

"Golli took on real estate, everyone else is good."

"Oh…" I looked away, not realising Rinek had lost people too.

"Don't mean nothing," Rinek said casually.

"Nah, nah it don't."

* * *

 _Fort Sturnn..._

The first indication that Brigadier General Vorbeck had fallen asleep was when his head hit the display map he had been surveying.

Waking up with a jolt of alarm, Vorbeck rubbed his sore eyes and coughed. Panic gripped him when he remembered where he was and what was happening.

 _How long was I out?_ Vorbeck pulled back his sleeve and checked his chrono, fearful that he had slept for too long.

 _Four and a half minutes_ , he realised. His chrono had read 12:15 before, now it read 12:19.

Vorbeck had been on his feet going eighty hours without rest.

Coordinating the defence of Fort Sturnn as well as Karamaya was exhausting and forced Vorbeck to rely on stimulants not to stay on his feet but to remain sharp and focused. His temper had shortened significantly and he'd become irritable to everyone around him. Most worryingly was his forgetfulness and having to be constantly reminded by his aides of little things. And truth be told, his days as a youthful staff officer were long past. The lives of half a million men weighed heavily on his shoulders.

The glowing lights of Vorbeck's chamber brightened when a staff major entered. "Beg pardon, sir, but you're needed in the command centre."

"Right, thank you, Pruitt," Vorbeck got up slowly and stretched his arms. He had made a point to learn the name of every officer serving under him, knowing that men tended to work better with one another if they knew their commanding officer was looking out for them and was respectful of their abilities.

Buttoning up his camouflaged officers smock, Vorbeck tucked his beret inside and stood up straight in front of a portrait of one of the members of the Imperial Senate.

" _The Emperor's guidance_ …" Vorbeck whispered, "… _is with me_."

Making the sign of the aquila Vorbeck marched confidently from his chamber and into the adjacent room.

The command centre was wide and circular with a low ceiling and a panoramic view of the interior of the fort. Normally wide-open, the blast shields had been lowered, completely cutting out the day, plunging the CC into darkness lit only by green, artificial light.

Vorbeck strode past O groups gathered around small tables projecting three-dimensional maps, one or two high-ranking commissars keeping watch like hawks, a few naval officers and their attaché and some out-of-place Techpriests. Salutes and curt nods were respectfully given as he passed by.

"Gentlemen," Vorbeck came upon the central and largest holo-projection which was ringed by officers and subordinates, keeping an eye on Karamaya and the fort's perimeter. "Colonel Creel, Colonel Zandyke, Major Lomas, any new developments?"

"General," Colonel Creel, an artilleryman, swept a hand across the map. "The militia has dug in all along the high ground overlooking Karamaya. In this position their guns can hit anything in the city with the exception of the beaches which, as I am told, is where most of our men are."

"Yes, sir," Colonel Zandyke, less wet behind the ears than Creel, continued. "No attack has been initiated as of yet, the militia are still in the process of building up their forces behind the ridgeline so it's only a matter of time before the men in the trenches will get contact."

"What is their strength?" Vorbeck asked, leaning over the map.

"Unknown, intelligence has done a bunk on their total number so what we face here might be ten divisions or a hundred."

"Major Lomas, anything to add?" Vorbeck turned to the young major who had kept silent.

"Uh, what we face is mostly infantry, militia with the odd mob of cultists thrown ahead as meatshields. Tanks, there are plenty of those, most certainly an armoured division's worth. There has also been some talk of Marine units in the area but we have yet to acquire any more gen on them."

Marines were bad news for the lightly-armed guardsmen holding the perimeter.

 _Poor bastards_ , Vorbeck kept his face blank and inquired as to the status of the men in the city.

"They are having rather a rough time according to Colonel Gausser," Creel said.

"Gausser…" Vorbeck's memory deserted him briefly.

"1 Neria's OC, sir," Zandyke said helpfully.

"Yes."

"Colonel Gausser's last communique was quite blunt, stating there was no running water, little food, a lack of medical supplies, winter clothing and dwindling ammunition."

"Emperor knows we've tried sending them relief. Every single one of our convoys has come under heavy fire and has either been shot up or forced to turn back," Zandyke said matter-of-factly. "We've tried firing aid packages into city with the twelve-inchers but the contents come out ruined, no joy."

"Rather a sorry state of affairs, sir," Creel put forlornly.

"May I remind you, gentlemen, we have a task at hand, we will continue to hold our ground until ordered otherwise," Vorbeck put his boot down sharply.

"Admiral Paderwicz, any contact with the Navy?" Vorbeck turned to a finely attired vice-admiral who wore a monocle grafted into his flesh and a swagger stick clenched under his arm.

"No word yet from FLEETCOM on Cypra Mundi, General, the enemy blockade remains firm. However – and this is rather an interesting development – we have started to pick up scattered transmissions not originating from the Chaos fleet."

"Is it our relief, has the Navy broken through?" Vorbeck's spirits lifted, relief would be with them shortly.

"The transmissions do not come from our ships, rather Xenos," the admiral's face twisted as he pronounced the word. "It reviles me to have to deliver such fell tidings."

"Xenos?" Vorbeck, stunned, looked from the admiral to his own officers, silently demanding an explanation. "Well, why the hell wasn't I informed of Xenos presence in the system?"

"Sir," Colonel Zandyke made a subtle gesture towards a figure standing back in the shadows, away from everyone else.

Vorbeck saw the decorative gold letter I on the black-clad onlooker's belt as well as the leatherbound book fastened to it. " _Of course_ …"

" _This planet falls under their jurisdiction_ ," Zandyke whispered. " _They are everywhere_."

Giving the subtlest of nods, Vorbeck thanked the admiral for his contribution and went back to the map.

"The coast road, how much fire is it receiving?"

"It varies, general, but any attempt to move a large force has been met with heavy response."

"Okay, I want platoon-sized units with mobile firepower launching constant raids from the road. Make it as aggressive as possible but refrain from being reckless."

"Yes, General, 4 and 5 Kallistan Rifles have already begun conducting raids along with a troop of Chimeras from A Squadron, 9/18 Recce; they have been highly successful so far."

"Good, that road is vital, _vital,_ to the continuation of our operations on Nemtess, it must be held at all costs."

A stamp of boot heels behind General Vorbeck caught his attention. "Yes?" he inquired as a signals NCO stood there rigidly.

"Sir, message for you, it's marked Secret and Personal, sir."

"Thank you, Sarn't," Vorbeck took the folded piece of paper and tucked it inside a pocket. "Excuse me, gentlemen," he left the table and returned to his chamber to read the message.

Taking a chair, Vorbeck drew it under him and unfolded the paper.

 _General,_ _you are ordered to abandon_ _Nemesis Tessera and make for Cadia with all haste. Choose any personnel you deem valuable to your command to accompany you and leave the planet via the spaceport. Xenos ships are engaging the Chaos blockade; this will serve as a distraction for your departure. Leave within the next twelve hours or you will be trapped and killed._

 _Signed,_

 _The Lord Commander Militant._

Vorbeck snorted, imagining for a wild moment that the letter was a joke despite the very genuine signature.

 _They want me out, just me_ , it dawned suddenly on Vorbeck what command was ordering him to do.

They would sacrifice half a million's worth of men and half that many civilians to save a general and a few staff officers, the thought of that betrayal made Vorbeck burn with shame.

 _Has the situation deteriorated so far that Command will readily abandon several armies' worth of men, all to save a general?_

" _Damn them… damn them…_ " Vorbeck screwed up the piece of paper and hurled it into an incinerator. Leaning on the mantelpiece above a fireplace he pressed a clenched fist to his mouth and thought hard.

"What do I do?" he asked aloud.

An unlikely answer was provided when a nonplussed aide directed a major of intelligence into Vorbeck's chamber.

"Sir," the major snapped to attention.

"What is it?" Vorbeck snapped.

"Sir, an envoy of the Eldar requests an audience with you personally."

Momentarily speechless, Vorbeck crossed to the major and fixed him with a cool stare. "I will have you broken back into the ranks if I find out this is a stunt, Major."

"Sir, the Eldar is here, she surrendered herself to one of our checkpoints with another yesterday."

"At a time like this, Major?" Vorbeck said angrily. "I have a war to run. I do not want some Xeno sticking her nose into human affairs, meddlesome…"

"Sir, she says it's absolutely urgent that she speaks with you now."

"She will not take no for an answer will she? The Xeno can have five minutes but do not bring her up through the CC, clear?" Vorbeck remembered the silent Inquisitorial official.

"Yes, sir," the major backed out and shut the door behind him.

Vorbeck was still slouching in his chair when the Stickie was admitted entrance to his chamber.

She was clad in torn, dirt-encrusted robes that had faded from an emerald green to a non-distinct olive grey, these were worn over a thin, flexible chest piece, in a similarly battered and faded state. Beneath her pointed hood, a pair of golden eyes glowed faintly.

Vorbeck was taken aback when the Stickie drew back her hood revealing her face. White scars crisscrossed her cheeks and forehead, the pupil of her right eye was curiously dilated and her greasy, raven hair, not even reaching her shoulders, was worn loose.

Standing, Vorbeck offered the envoy the chair in front of his desk. "I am Vorbeck. Forgive me, Xeno, I am busy running a war here, your timing could not have been worse."

Electing to remain on her feet, the Stickie tucked her arms in her sleeves and spoke in surprisingly accentless gothic. "On the contrary, general, my timing could not have been better. My name is Izuru Numerial. I come with a proposal from my Chief Farseer, one you would be wise to consider…"

Leaning forwards, Vorbeck linked his fingers together and gave Izuru Numerial his undivided attention.

* * *

The bare edges of the three pairs of dog-tags clinked gently in Private Felix Ankron's hand.

Marc Ankron, Dunne Ankron, Serge Beuchner, he rubbed his thumb across the bloodstained metal, reading and re-reading their names.

 _Father, brother, cousin_ , _all gone,_ Ankron despaired. _I'm alone_.

The forced march across the blizzard-swept wastes by their sadistic masters had sapped the energy and the will to fight from the men of the 63rd Colchisian Foot Regiment, formerly of the Imperial Guard.

The inhospitable conditions forced more and more men out of the column where they collapsed and were left behind in the snow. Ankron had not realised his brother and cousin were missing until his company had been allowed to fall out and rest. He had not been permitted to go and look for them.

Now, crouched with the other men in his mortar team, Ankron awaited the whistle that would start the attack on Karamaya. The tube of the team's 2-inch mortar, a leadweight, rested on left his shoulder, his lasgun was slung on the other.

Wind whistled through the rows of silent militia, whipping up greatcoats and capes. The cloudbase had lowered, reducing visibility. The morning's snowfall had dumped around six inches of snow on the ground, leaving a world of white and grey. Thick clouds of black smoke rose from beyond the ridge in the city.

Glancing behind him Ankron's gaze centered on a platoon of bare-headed Marines kneeling in the snow. Their oversized boltguns and tall, crested helmets were laid beside them, they were being led in prayer by their officer.

Captain Hathor Maat of the Thousand Sons, also bareheaded, his long, golden hair flying in the wind, was bestowing blessings on his men as they awaited the advance order. "Magnus' blessing be upon you, Brother," he said to each battle-brother, touching them on the forehead then moving on.

Colonel Farder Rulbek anxiously wiped moisture from his chrono and checked the time. The armour was late and it would be getting dark in a few hours, the promises made of a full battalion of tanks spearheading the assault on Karamaya was beginning to sound terribly hollow. So far none had showed. Rulbek needed tanks to support his infantry and vice-versa. The Marines, infuriatingly, were not operating under his command, instead answering to the leader of their warband who was elsewhere so they were all but useless.

 _All I have are a bunch of frostbitten boys and old men to storm a city, and here I thought we had the superior numbers,_ Rulbek fumed, stamping around to restore some warmth to his feet.

"Sir, beg to report…" a pink-faced militiaman bounded up to Rulbek's headquarters.

"Where are my tanks?" Rulbek demanded, shoving past his standard bearer and rounding on the soldier.

"Sir, the armour's on its way right now, they'll be with us in five minutes."

"How many of them?"

"Six tanks, six tanks, sir."

"Right, dismissed."

 _Six tanks, they are giving me six tanks to take a city!_ The report made Rulbek even angrier, enough to make him seriously consider shooting the messenger and throwing his corpse to the Thousand Sons.

The tanks arrived fifteen minutes later. Six outdated Mark IV Russ's, obsolete compared to the newer Mark VII and VIII but enough to get the job done, rumbled into view. Being older models kept over from wars long past they bore signs of Chaos corruption. Entrails dripping with blood decorated their hulls, some hanging off and dragging on the ground behind the treads. Hideous mutations, warping the shape of the gun tubes and turret, had sprouted, courtesy of the infectious taint.

 _About damn time,_ Rulbek tutted, "tell all callsigns to stand to," he ordered his signaller.

"Sir," the signaller knelt and spoke into the mic attached to his throat, "hello Cain Cain Two, this is Sceptre…"

"Courage, lads," Corporal Arik Zahal said to the mortar team reassuringly. "Stay together, do our job and we'll get through today."

Felix Ankron shifted nervously as he watched the first wave of men, on the sound of the whistle, accompany the tanks up the hill. A continuous drumroll was now audible deep in the rear, the artillery batteries, given their firing solutions, were now shooting non-stop.

"Weapons move up!" someone cried.

"Let's go, lads," Zahal waved. "Follow the infantry."

 _This is it_ , Ankron's stomach flipped. Adjusting the heavy tube on his shoulder he rose and followed in the wake of his team, whispering endless litanies of protection under his breath.

* * *

A distant drone interrupted the hacking of shovels against frozen earth. Tossing my spade aside, I stood up in the trench and glassed the distant hillside, most of which was covered in fog patches or low cloud.

Through my glasses I saw six tanks rolling ponderously down the hill.

"STAND TO!" I grabbed the nearest weapon, a Lecta, and ran down the snaking trench, rousing men who had fallen asleep.

"Company?" Martti asked, throwing his rain cape from where it was covering his stubber and feeding a belt into it.

"Plenty," I replied. "C'mon, lads, get ready!"

Hearing the noise of tank engines the tiny handful of men rushed to assume firing positions, exchanging caps for helmets and ensuring their rifles' actions had not frozen up.

"Is this C Company?" a voice asked.

"Maybe, what are you?" I heard the crunch of boots beside me but did not bother to look round.

"Mangin, Navy, I'm an observer. I was told to report to Cain's OC, is he here?"

"No he ain't," I looked round at a clean and well-fed lad in his mid-twenties who wore a basic set of OG combats and carried a vox on his back.

"Is your commanding officer nearby?" Mangin asked, flinching when he heard a rumble of far-off guns.

"Dead."

"Who's in command here?"

"I'm Corporal Larn, go talk to Corporal Rinek. You see the tank over there?" I pointed at the stationary Bomb that Teren had parked in partial cover. "He's in command."

"Yeah," Mangin nodded, hurrying past me.

"You got a link to arty?" I shouted after him.

"Not just arty, twelve inch naval guns, straight from Fort Sturnn!" Mangin replied.

"Oi!" I followed him over towards Bomb. Hearing the all-too familiar report of incoming mail, I yanked the hapless observer down inside the trench.

The enemy's preliminary bombardment was murderous. At that moment I knew our little force was lost.

"My ears!" I heard Mangin moan once the explosions had ceased. Mine too had giant bells ringing inside them.

Around me, the survivors of Cain picked themselves up from where they had cowered and manned their fighting positions. They were not my greatest worry. Our single heavy support asset had been hit by a shell and was now starting to burn. Worse, it was rolling forwards slowly.

"Teren!" I climbed out from the protective barrier the hardbags provided and made for Bomb. "You alright?" I leapt upwards and pulled myself onto the trackguard, slightly too fast leaving me with scraped knees.

Rinek's blackened face popped out of his hatch. Wet blood ran from his nostrils. "Teren's inside, get the hatch open from your end!"

"Right," I clambered to the front of the tank and tried to prise open the driver's hatch, it refused to budge. A determined shove from inside pushed it upwards and Rinek was there, the unconscious Teren in his arms.

"Pull him out, gently now!" Rinek guided the limp driver upwards. The removal of his foot ground the tank to a halt.

"Here, I got him," Ozzi was there. "Let go, I got him."

Hopping down from the turret, Rinek helped Ozzi and I carry Teren towards the rear.

"He alright?" I asked.

"We gotta get him back to the rear now," Ozzi cried.

"He'll be alright," Rinek shouted in my ear. "Sorry but we can't do anything else here."

"Nah, you lot get outta here, we'll be alright," I tried to sound confident and like I knew what I was doing in the face of the veterans.

"Stay away from Bomb, she's loaded with fuel and ammo, she'll go up any second," Rinek said over the growing noise. "Take care."

With that, the tankies left for the rear.

Sliding back down into the trench, I glassed the incoming tanks. Wave after wave of grey dots had begun to appear and move across the waste. With our armour gone we stood little chance of turning away the attack.

"Larn, what do we do?" Martti, his stubber shouldered, asked.

Along our fragile line the few white, scared faces waited for me to say something, to come up with a miracle solution to the massive problem we now faced.

"Navy, get us some fire, put smoke on the bastards," I said to Mangin. "Everyone else, get yer arses back to cover, back to the buildings!"

Mangin unfolded a map and laid it in front of him. For a second he studied the six-digit grid then spoke into his piece, "hello, Sheldrake, this is Stalker, fire mission…"

"What?!" Martti blurted in outrage, like I had suddenly gone mad.

"You 'eard me, fall back!" I jerked my thumb over my shoulder.

"You can't," Martti said, his distress apparent. "It's not right."

"Can't do much with twenty men, I'm gonna stay 'ere with the observer, we'll knock the stuffin' from the Perfs with the big guns then pull back. Martti, you and Aimo run to the rear and find someone, anyone, and get 'em to go with you, we'll need 'em for the counterattack."

"Don't make me go back alone," Martti implored.

"You won't be, Aimo's gonna be with ye," I slapped him on the shoulder, "go on now!"

There was no time to be sentimental, I understood Martti's concern but we had no other alternative.

"Shot, out," Mangin spoke. To me he said, "five seconds from impact."

"Yeah," I replied. Both of us had our eyes glued to our respective sight relief.

"Splash, out!"

A tremendous whump and the smoke round exploded in no-man's land, well beyond the tanks and infantry, the white phosphorus flying high into the sky, inciting the tanks to open up with their batteries.

"One hundred short, fifty right and fire for effect, over!" Mangin corrected.

For a split second, I glanced to my right at Bomb, considering employing the pintle-mounted .50 calibre stubber. A loud clang next to me and Mangin's head hit the edge of the hardbags. A black hole had appeared in the side of his helmet, the edges of which had been forced outwards. Inside it, greyish matter glistened amidst blood and bone fragments.

"Hello, Stalker?" a mechanical voice came from the receiver.

Snatching the vox pack from the observer's body, I hefted it on my shoulder and scurried along the trench towards Bomb.

"Stalker is dead, this is Corporal Larn," I said, hoping my voice didn't sound too panicky.

"Corporal Larn, what are you up against, over?" the voice on the other end said a little too cheerfully.

"Uhh, six tanks, maybe four hundred infantry."

"By the Omnissiah, how close are they?"

"Close enough, I'm on my own here, get me some fire!"

Mangin's adjustment came in square on the Perf's heads, covering the area in black smoke and flame, forming a curtain between me and the enemy.

"That's exactly what I wanted, keep on it!" I yelled.

"How close are they?"

"Fifty over, keep firing for effect!"

The tanks were now close enough to start raking my position with bolter and stubber fire.

"How close are they?"

"Fifty over, keep on it, my company's pulling back."

The advance wave of infantry was within two hundred yards of my position, close enough for me to feel individual rounds thumping into the earth around me and passing overhead.

"How close are they?"

"Fifty over, fifty over!"

Seizing my Lecta I started sniping. At such long range it was a pointless gesture that only resulted in an empty weapon.

Suddenly the tanks veered to the left, the Navy's gunfire forcing them to break off the attack. Snatching up the vox, I shouted down the line, "that's it, the tanks are pulling away!"

"Standing by to adjust."

"No, negative, stay on the infantry, keep firing for effect!"

For the moment I contemplated pulling back and rejoining the company. The enemy infantry had gone to ground after the sharp hiding by the naval guns. With their armour deserting them it looked like the Perfs would pull back too.

Waiting with baited breath, I growled in frustration when the Perfs renewed their advance. Even in the face of the continuing bombardment they were undeterred.

Now sorely tempted to withdraw, I instead changed my plans when I saw Bomb was loaded with ammunition for its heavy stubber which was undamaged.

"How close are they?" the vox called as I made for the burning tank.

"Stay online and I'll let ye talk to one o' the bastards!"

* * *

Arik Zahal saw the tanks in front veer to the right and immediately heard the cries of dismay and anger from the infantry they had deserted.

"What the hell's going on?"

"Where you going?"

"Don't leave!"

"Shit, there goes our armour," Zahal flung himself down behind a broken coil of razorwire. "Everyone here?" he checked his team was with him.

"Are we–are we still going through with this?" Felix Ankron shouted.

"Don't know."

A particularly close blast tore the helmet off of a nearby militiaman, forcing him to scurry about on all fours to get it.

"ON, ON!" a mechanically augmented voice made itself known over the din.

Ankron shied away in fear when a squad of Thousand Sons bounded from the smoke, firing their bolters in the air, exhorting the stalled attack to resume.

"You, weapons, move up, you have cover!" a Marine stepped in front of the mortar team and snapped off a shot in the direction of the Imperial lines.

"You heard him, get moving!" Zahal broke from cover, charging after the infantry.

Ankron, however scared of the Imperials he was, had a greater fear of the metal monsters in their blue and yellow armour. He had no choice but to keep moving forwards.

* * *

"How close are they?" the vox asked for the umpteenth time.

"Fifty over, keep firing for effect!"

Standing on Bomb's engine deck, I reached for the pintle-mounted gun. Jerking the frost-covered retaining pin from the .50 cal's mount, I took hold of the stubber's spade grips and racked the action, expelling a round from the chamber. My thumbs pressed down on the paddles.

 _Thudthudthudthudthud,_ the fierce chatter was like sweet music to my ears. A symphony of half-inch slugs flew from the barrel, the streaks of light arcing gently through the mist and smoke towards the reinvigorated Perfs causing chaos amongst their ranks, being unable to see the source of the fire.

Were it not for the poor visibility I imagine I would have been gunned down almost immediately as I was standing, fully exposed, from my ankles to my head in full view of the Perfs; my only cover being the smoke from the artillery.

A crash and the tank shuddered violently. Vaguely I put two and two together and concluded that it had received another direct hit. I was dimly aware of the burning beneath my feet, yet no flames touched me. I was standing on a time bomb, one that could go up at any time. The one crumb of comfort was that it was the first time my feet had been warm in several days.

Lying next to my feet, the vox buzzed.

"This is Sergeant Rexor, are you still alive, corporal?"

"Yeah, just about," I replied, spreading the map on my left palm. "Correct fire—"

 _Crash!_ I was conscious of a flash and an explosion. I reeled back with the map and receiver in my hands.

"Corporal, corporal, can you hear me? Are you still alive?"

"I think so. Correct fire, fifty over; keep this channel clear."

The militia drew steadily closer, firing as they advanced. I felt bullets whiz past me spattering like hammers on Bomb's turret and hull.

Walking the tracerfire from the stubber side to side in short bursts, I saw firsthand the mind-numbing effect .50 calibre rounds had on human bodies with heads popping like cherries, entire limbs disappearing from existence, and bodies ripped cleanly in half as if cut by a giant sword.

I paused as the ammo ran out. Feeding another belt of cartridges into the stubber I seized the trigger again.

The smoke was so thick I could barely see through it and the smell of smouldering flesh was in my nostrils. When the wind blew the smoke aside I lit up anything that stirred.

The gun had thrown the enemy into confusion. Evidently they could not locate its position. Later I was told that the burning tank, loaded with petrol and ammunition was expected to blow up at any minute. That was why the enemy tanks gave it a wide berth and the infantry could not concede a man's using it for cover.

Now the militia tried a new tactic. A gust of wind whipped the smoke aside and I saw a man in blue power armour, a Marine in a roadside ditch not fifty yards from my position. He was peering cautiously about then, turning his head, he motioned the squad of militia he led forwards.

As I swung the fifty around and racked the action a billow of smoke came between us, forcing me to wait.

* * *

"TAKE COVER!" Captain Hathor Maat's booming voice carried through the smoke and fire that raged all around him. Furious that the human armour had turned tail, Maat stood out in the open, using his stentorian voice to urge the militia out from their tiny scraps of cover and to close with the enemy before the artillery, which was accurate and continuous, felled them all.

"You, fall in behind me!" Maat waved his bolt pistol down at a section of terrified militia that were huddled in a ditch.

Jumping down to them, Maat pushed and shoved the frail humans, "if you do not move you will all die here. With me! With me!"

Maat led from the front, pausing every few moments to convene with the other brothers in his squad who had spread out amongst the two companies of militia to provide assistance where it was needed.

There did not seem to be much targeting them aside from the artillery barrage, only a few bursts of red tracerfire could be seen every now and again. Maat could not see where it was coming from or he would've ordered his Marines to focus on it solely. There had to be observers too, else why was the artillery firing so precisely?

"Follow me!" he gestured to the militia behind him who were like lost livestock, their drive deserting them at such a crucial point.

Seeing the streaks of red again, Maat paused and looked around, searching for the weapon that was, beside the artillery, the sole cause of the worsening casualties.

* * *

The Thousand Sons' Marine and I both saw each other at the same time when the smoke column folded to one side.

The section of militia and the Marine were huddled in a ditch discussing something, perhaps my possible location. The clearing visibility revealed our positions, the Marine shouted and pointed at me. In response I pressed the paddles and slowly traversed the barrel. At such a range the Perfs ceased to be recognisable as human beings, just chunks of bloody red meat that stood out against the frozen ground.

Left by himself the Marine now bore the brunt of my withering bursts. At first he appeared to receive no damage from the heavy slugs, constituting a minor nuisance to his thick power armour. Then the kinetic force behind the bullets began to take a toll on his suits' structure, while not penetrating, the .50 cal rounds must've been like hot hammer blows hitting his body all over.

Raising his forearm to protect his face, the Marine loosed off a fusillade of bolter rounds in my direction and beat a retreat through the heaps of blood and body parts.

Giving the bodies another thorough burst, I picked up the receiver.

"Correct fire, fifty over; keep firing for effect!"

"Are you alright, Corporal?"

"I'm fine, sergeant, what're your future plans?" I shouted back.

They didn't reply to that.

The barrage was now landing within fifty yards of the tank. The shouting, screaming enemy troops who were almost on me were caught inbetween that and the fire from the stubber.

I caught a glimpse of the enemy tanks turning and lumbering back up the hillside, reluctant to advance without infantry support. Elsewhere to the south an attack was hitting the Guard units hard, then my vision once again became obscured.

I snatched up the receiver, "Sergeant Rexor, correct fire, fifty over and keep firing for effect; last change."

"That's right on top of you!" the calm voice now betrayed a hint of panic.

"I don't care, fifty over."

Clamping my thumbs down on the trigger, I blazed away at any Perfs who dared to show themselves. By now the heat was visibly rising from the barrel which was in danger of warping. My mind, overcome with a strange sense of calm, was focused solely on the problem of the enemy's continued existence.

Names and faces flashed through my head each time a Perf was blown apart that, to me, was an oddly gratifying sight. At last I was getting back at the bastards who had killed my friends.

So intent on the slaughter I did not hear the artillery dropping almost on my head. The concussion of the falling round knocked me from the tank so quickly all saw was a flash of sky then felt a painful thump jarring my back.

For a moment I lay there stunned then I saw the vox receiver in my hand.

I called for the artillery but there was no reply, my befuddled senses did not register the vox piece' severed cord dangling uselessly.

Rendered immobile, I saw the Perfs coming at me, swarming the tank and flashing knives. Neither of us expected Bomb to suddenly blow up, though it could not have come at a better moment.

The full fuel tanks exploded in a ball of bright flames, engulfing Bomb completely as well as the Perfs around and atop it, sending some flying into the air.

Scrabbling backwards, I felt the heat wash over me, singing my hair and eyebrows, gaping in horror at the screaming, writhing men burning to death.

* * *

Arik Zahal and Felix Ankron saw the tank go up in a cloud of bright yellow and instantly knew their attack had failed.

Trudging about aimlessly, they looked out at the piles of bodies, some lying still, some on fire, others crying quietly, crying loudly or simply crying for their mothers.

Ankron threw up quietly. Zahal spun from side to side, mumbling incomprehensible gibberish, the loss of his team crushing his spirit to the point that he could no longer speak.

Again Ankron looked at the three pairs of tags belonging to his fallen relatives and silently shed tears. He too could not speak.

Others like Ankron wandered around. With the banging gone those left alive rose and walked without purpose, sat and stared or clutched their knees to their chin, in the deep throes of shock.

Near the burning torch, a figure in tattered OGs got up from the ground and carefully surveyed his sore, bloody hands. Looking up slowly, his gaze was drawn across the corpse-strewn, burning, smoke-covered battlefield then away into the far distance where it stayed; forever unblinking.


	36. Chapter 35

14:58/M41/03-40.999/Karamaya/Nemesis Tessera/Nemesis System/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

Colonel Gausser could clearly hear the sounds of the militia advancing in the wake of his Nerians who were falling back further into the city centre, relentlessly hounded by their enemy. All he could hope for was that his men would force the Perfs to fight tooth and nail for every inch of ground given providing the civilians and other Guard forces enough time to retreat.

 _We are being forced back slowly but steadily_ , Gausser thought grimly, _soon we will all be crammed on the beaches, between the Perfs and the ice. If that happens where then will we go?_

"Sir, Captain Kaukasios for you," a handset was passed to Gausser. He knew exactly what the upstart officer was calling about, the blasted Star of Terra he was so thoroughly underserving of.

Gausser tucked the vox piece between his ear and shoulder, "the situation is worsening here, captain, you're needed."

"But my orders are here! They are here, sir, and my replacement is already with the company!"

"You may leave, Kaukasios," Gausser said whilst silently thanking the Emperor that Kaukasios was finally out of his hair.

Slamming the phone down, Kaukasios squeezed his eyes shut and listened to the heavy fighting several streets away. This was it, he was no longer required to remain in this ghastly place, fighting a war he nor anyone else understood. He was free.

"Time to go," Kaukasios muttered, glancing up as the roof above him was shaken by mortarfire. Truth be told he did not know where Cain Company's replacement commander was, his arrival was long overdue and in all likelihood the man was lying dead in the street somewhere; yet another forgotten casualty.

Throwing on his greatcoat, Kaukasios did up his belt and turned to pick up his helmet from where it lay on the tabletop amongst the grime and dirt.

A grey-haired ghost coated in dust and filth stood on the opposite side of the room brandishing a Lecta. Kaukasios turned white and froze, the revelation slowly dawning. Both men eyed the other as a long and painful pause began. Outside the guns fell silent.

"Commissar Kazel is dead," Scherder said, letting the words hang in the air. "Your plan failed, captain, I live. You are dead."

Setting his jaw, Kaukasios replied sternly, "Commissar Kazel is no longer on my staff. He has been transferred, as have I…"

"You aristocratic, cowardly, two-faced speck of imperial pig-shit," Scherder said softly. "Do you know how many men – boys – have lost their lives because of your greed, your incompetence? When you walk down the Emperor's Avenue on Haven with a girl on one arm and the Star gleaming on your breast, ask yourself, was it worth it in the end? _Was it?_ "

Kaukasios finished fastening his belt and went to take his helmet, ignoring Scherder.

Baring his teeth, Scherder let fly a burst into the wall beside Kaukasios. As the air settled, Scherder leant over and spat on Kaukasios' boot. "Damn you, damn all officers, damn the Emperor and damn the Imperium of Man," Scherder rumbled. "Leaving without your Star of Terra? It's only a matter of time."

"Where is the rest of your platoon?" Kaukasios glared at him like a wounded animal cornered by a larger predator. "Where is the rest of your platoon, Sergeant Scherder?" he snarled, putting on an aggressive front in an attempt to save face.

Scherder gazed into space, the cries of his dying men ringing in his ears. "You…" he fixed Kaukasios with a mirthless grin. "You, captain, are the rest of my platoon." Scherder's grin turned gradually maniacal, a devilish gleam had come into his eyes.

Pushing past Kaukasios, Scherder picked up the captains' lascarbine and thrust it into his stomach. "You know how to use it?"

"Yes, of course," Kaukasios replied, loading a charge pack and extending the wire stock.

Waiting by the door, Scherder heard the hum of the energy weapons' safety being disengaged. Kaukasios had it trained on his back.

"Don't you want to know?" Scherder looked over his shoulder at the black muzzle and snorted derisively.

"Know what?" Kaukasios' lip curled. When Scherder did not reply he lowered his weapon, smirking. He sensed the sergeants' challenge.

"Very well, I accept," Kaukasios said smugly. "I will show you how an Imperial officer can fight."

Scherder's cold eyes met Kaukasios', "then I will show you… where the Stars of Terra grow."

The guns' brief hiatus ended, chaos resumed.

* * *

From the battalion command post Gausser was feeling increasingly useless. It had become plain that unit structure had broken down at the company level and the fighting retreat was turning into a rout as the Perfs' superior numbers rapidly overwhelmed the beleaguered imperials.

"Tell me you have good news?" Gausser shouted down the line to Alpha Company's commander who, by the heavy background noise, was in the middle of a hectic firefight.

"The Perfs are probing to the north and north-east. We're steady but cannot hold forever. I'm unsure but it appeared a large force of infantry with tank support just hit C Company's sector; there's been no report from them however."

"Thank you, out." Gausser wiped the sweat from his face and straightened his moustache. "Get me Cain Company!"

"No reply, sir."

"B Company then."

B Company along with D Company held the south-eastern corner of the perimeter, running from the highway on the southernmost point of the city up to C Company's sector. A breach in the line there would give the Perfs an easy run to the coast road where they could sever the precious lifeline between Sturnn and Karamaya.

"Bravo Company, report!"

"They've broken through the perimeter, sir!" the voice of Bravo's OC came through amidst gunfire and explosions. "Need reinforcements immediately, cannot hold out much longer!"

"Stand your ground, I'm coming down there," Gausser snapped.

Throwing down the vox he pulled on a flak vest and helmet, "I need volunteers to accompany me to Bravo's sector."

Every man in the room raised his hand.

"Major Kett, as you were. Several of you must remain on comms, everyone else fall out and draw ammo and rifles."

There was a rush as the half dozen men remaining in the CP armed themselves with lasguns, LARs, anything that was at hand, and assembled by their colonel.

"Unfurl the battalion colours, we will carry them into battle with us," Gausser announced.

Striding out into the street Gausser waited for 1 Neria's colours to be unfurled before advancing with his headquarters, heedless of the bullets and lasbeams snapping through the air around him. Marching upright and fearless, Gausser stood tall before the billowing standard being held proudly aloft.

"STOP THERE!" he thundered, holding up a hand to check the routing men that were streaming past him in large numbers. "Turn, advance, advance with me!"

Seeing their commanding officer join the fight, the Nerians halted in their tracks and joined the colonel's group which grew rapidly from a tiny handful into a fighting force.

At the head of the Nerians Gausser move forwards at a steady pace, firing his carbine from the hip, the rush of battle gripping him. His fury was so great the Perfs, not anticipating the renewed strength of their enemy, began to falter.

Seeing the opportunity arising, Gausser led the charge down the street towards the wall of Perfs, running faster and faster with his men.

Pausing with the standard bearer, Gausser fired his carbine in the air and let out a great shout, "FOR THE EMPEROR, FOR THE PEOPLE, AND FOR NEREUS!"

Black smoke hid him from view as the two sides slammed into one another. The sounds of the battle carried all the way across the city to those on the beaches.

* * *

Two figures, one in greatcoat and helmet, the other in windproof and field cap, ducked and dodged through the broken city streets.

 _Where the hell is he leading me?_ Kaukasios fell against a brick wall, gasping for breath, the taste of soot in his mouth.

Fires from the bombardment raged inside the commercial buildings and warehouses they ran through. Aircraft roared over overhead, dropping bombs and firing rockets into the city, each payload shrieking down to earth, toppling great towers and tearing structures apart.

Kaukasios fired at anything and everything that moved, not caring whether it was Chaos or an imperial soldier. In front of him, Scherder took down anything in his path, it was like a daemon had entered his body, possessing and planting in him a terrible fire, granting him invincibility.

Stumbling over a set of railway tracks, Kaukasios followed Scherder past a train that had been derailed and thrown on its side. From underneath it two Perfs ran at Kaukasios forcing him to spray them with his lascarbine haphazardly before falling over.

"Kaukasios, dammit, get off your arse!" Scherder cried seeing the inept officer had lost his footing.

Pointing his weapon at a gaggle of Perfs on the other side of the railyard, Kaukasios saw it sputter and die. Crying out in dismay he dumped the useless weapon, picked up an enemy Kazalak and, discovering it empty, frantically cast about for more ammunition on the dead Perfs.

"How do I reload?" Kaukasios begged. "Sergeant Scherder, how do I reload?"

A burst of automatic fire peppered holes in the train car above Kaukasios' head. His helmet went flying.

Noticing the Perf who had shot at him, Scherder laughed, "show me how an imperial officer fights, captain, come on!"

"Help me!" Kaukasios retrieved his helmet, putting it on backwards accidentally.

The Perf who had shot at him stood up from where he had been hidden and pointed at the captain, beside himself with laughter.

Scherder did not notice the grenade fragments peppering his leg, so busy laughing at the pathetic sight before him. Even the Perfs had stopped shooting to witness Kaukasios' balls-up.

"Come, captain, the Star of Terra awaits," Scherder limped over and dragged Kaukasios up and on.

Nearby Perfs applauded in amusement only to be sent scurrying to cover by Scherder's Lecta.

"I have it!" Kaukasios succeeded finally in loading his Kazalak. Aiming it awkwardly from the hip he searched for targets but the Perfs had fled.

"I think in here we may find a Star of Terra, captain," Scherder tittered.

 _He is mad_ , Kaukasios trembled. _Quite, quite mad._

"Now unless you are mad you will never find the place where they grow. For only madmen may earn the Star of Terra, captain, do you understand me?"

"Scherder…" Kaukasios tried to back away, unsure of whether Scherder had seen the squad of Marines in the marshalling yard up ahead.

"No, of course not, your mind is still whole, not yet broken," Scherder rambled. "Unless…" he pointed, confirming that yes, he had seen the Marines. "There, captain, your Star of Terra awaits!"

"No, I cannot," Kaukasios shrunk away from the armoured monsters, not even trying to hide his fear.

"Fear not, for I will aid you in your holy quest to earn the Star," Scherder slotted a fresh magazine in his Lecta and readied a grenade. "There, glory awaits, captain."

Thrust forwards, Kaukasios heard Scherder behind and, fearful he would be shot by him if he bolted, fired at the group of unaware Marines. The burst, most of which went high or wide, only sought to grab their attention.

"Now you see, Kaukasios!" Scherder shouted triumphantly. "You did it, you finally did it!"

Not one of the Marines raised his bolter to return fire. All ten were nonplussed at the two humans running at them, firing weapons that spattered against their armour to no effect.

Not watching his footing, Kaukasios slipped and fell, spraining his ankle.

"Oh my my, Kaukasios," Scherder limped over, blood covering his left leg. "My my…"

"Scherder, help me," Kaukasios pleaded, watching the Marines, one of whom had drawn a chainsword and was revving it. "Get me out of here!"

"Here is your Star of Terra, Kaukasios," Scherder knelt in front of him and pulled the pin from a grenade.

"Scherder, what are you doing?" Kaukasios began to weep hysterically.

"And now, captain, the last fraternisation between officer and man…" Scherder let the spool fly off, arming the fuse.

Kaukasios gawked, petrified and screamed, "SCHERDEEEEEERRR!"

Fragmentation, blood and little pieces of cloth and bone clattered against the Marine, his armour plate receiving not one scratch. Standing in the aftermath of the explosion he lowered his chainsword and shook his head.

 _Madness_ , he thought, turning his back on the two unrecognisable bodies and rejoining his squad.

* * *

Warmth from Bomb's burning corpse banished the chill in my bones. The glare from the flames lit up one side of my face whilst leaving the other in shadow giving me a haunted look.

The sun had come out, its rays shone down on the wounded landscape that was strewn with bodies both living and dead, piling up in freshly-dug shell craters or out in the open. The few Perfs left standing and not driven mad by the shelling meandered this way and that wearing expressions of dull surprise, dismay, or plain despair. One or two were sitting in the mud holding their heads in their hands. Some were crying others simply sat there, unable to comprehend the ordeal they had just been through.

Removing my helmet from my sweat-stained greasy head I let it hang by my side. Absent all feeling I stared, shell-shocked, up at the sky. The moment I looked up the sun went in and the light dimmed.

Bodies blackened by fire lay around Bomb, their flesh scorched black, their clothing melded with their skin. Rising from them were crackling flames and the smell I had become so familiar with that it now clung to my clothes, to my hair and my skin just like it would do a corpse.

The worst part was I felt nothing. There was nothing left in the man standing before the killing fields except a body. The mind had numbed to the point of uselessness and the spirit, once warm and lively, had been shattered and lost, never to be reclaimed.

Turning away I walked slowly back towards the city, willing the Perfs or the Marines to shoot me in the back. I was too weak from fear and exhaustion to care anymore.

Martti found me sitting on a wooden stool on a street corner. My arms rested on my knees and my hands were clasped together giving the impression I was deep in contemplation, it couldn't have further from the truth though.

The sliver of shrapnel embedded in my chest, so tiny and harmless, was turning infectious. If the chills weren't a sign then the elevated breathing and increased heart rate was. I could no longer deny it; I was dying.

"James?" Martti's eyes widened in astonishment at the sight of me alive and away from the line.

"Hullo, Martti," I said in a hushed tone.

"We—we've got reinforcements," Martti gestured at a scratch-force of infantry and non-combatants from a hodgepodge of units hurrying past to man the abandoned stretch of line.

"Don't need 'em, I stopped the Perfs," I said.

"You stopped the Perfs…?"

"How did you stop the Perfs?" Aimo appeared at Martti's shoulder.

"I killed 'em all, well some of 'em," I gave a shrug. "Most of 'em…"

"Why you back here? Where's the Navy bloke at?" Martti asked.

"He's dead. I'm through."

"What d'you mean you're through?" Martti knelt in front of me and clasped my bloodstained hand. "Your leg…"

"I've had it. I'm done s'what I mean. I've done my bit 'aven't I, now I'm leaving."

"You're deserting…" Aimo, stunned, paused in bandaging my thigh.

"I'm not going back in the trenches," I shook my head weakly. "And there's no one 'ere can make me."

"They'll shoot you!" Martti hissed through gritted teeth, tying the gauze off.

"Nah, me and you got orders to follow: Scherder's orders remember? Save ourselves that's what he said, and I'm gonna do that, Martti, I'm not gonna fail you like I failed Jussi, Staf and Antti and Erkki."

Getting up with some difficulty, I popped my helmet back on and headed in the opposite direction of the frontline. "Martti!"

"So where we gonna go then?" Martti asked, running to catch up to me.

"I guess I'm done 'ere as well," Aimo spat on the ground and followed us. "No sense dying out there."

"Fine, we'll go as far back as we can," I said, pointing at a great column of black smoke rising from the west. "We'll make for the smoke, that's where our lot'll be."

We set off with me leading, Aimo and Martti following behind. Plodding through the deserted streets I soon spotted a landmark, the hanged commissar still dangling from the rope, his body swaying gently in the breeze.

"Now that's a good commissar," Martti said.

"Too bloody right," Aimo agreed.

I did not bother to look. Already it was old news to me.

The centre of Karamaya was ruinous and dead. Once mighty statues of long forgotten heroes of the Imperium, men and Marines, had fallen from their plinths and broken into segments of grey stone, the massive pieces flattening entire streets. Gathered around them were civilians, the first we had seen. I wondered how many there were that had fled from across the continent to Karamaya, hoping the Imperial Guard would protect them and whether or not they knew just how bad the situation had become. Swathed in coats and scarves, the civvies huddled in whatever tiny scraps of shelter they could find, nursing children and old folk. Hands were held out as we passed by. I shut my ears to the men and women begging us to give them food or water for their children. We hadn't anything for ourselves let alone the masses of starving civilians.

"Here, something for the little one," Martti, seeing a tiny child in its mothers' arms, tore off a piece of black bread and offered it to her.

"Oh thank you, thank you," the mother beamed and let her child eat the bread.

"Little water too," Martti offered his near-empty canteen.

"Martti, come on," I reached between the shoulders of the crowd and pulled him away.

"Oi, give that back!" Martti shouted in indignation. "They're taking the bread from that woman!"

A couple of larger men had pried the bread from the woman's hand and were chewing greedily on it.

"Not our business," I steered him away.

"No, let me…" Martti protested, trying to fight against me and Aimo.

Others, sensing the presence of food, trickled out of basements and cobbled-together shelters to follow in our wake.

"Larn…" Aimo watched the throng closing in on both sides.

"Yeah," I said warily. "Martti, stay close."

Unbuttoning my holster I drew my pistol discreetly and held it close to my leg, Aimo and Martti unslung their LARs.

"Easy, easy," I stepped back, pressing against Martti and Aimo's backs.

Hands pawed at us, tugging at our webbing and belt kit. The stench of unwashed bodies was overwhelming. Around me Aimo and Martti cursed and threatened, jostling the thickening crowd. Dazed with pain and weariness, I felt my strength diminishing and my body being dragged away. With a last despairing effort, I raised my stub pistol high above my head to fire a warning shot.

Before I could pull the trigger a much louder report of a las weapon dispersed the mob, neither Martti nor Aimo had fired however. A loud clip-clop of hooves and suddenly a large four-legged animal, a horse was beside me. Sitting astride it was a bearded man in field-green greatcoat carrying a short-barrelled cavalry lascarbine. He was not of any unit I knew, his uniform was decidedly dapper in cut and colour, crimson on the epaulettes and the wide trouser stripes, the tall fleece hat he wore was white. A broad sabre was sheathed on his saddle.

"Cyrano Alma Semirechye," the rider tipped his hat to me. "Atreides 3rd Cavalry Brigade."

Slipping my sidearm away, I wiped my running nose and replied with, "James Larn, Alderian Royal Guards."

"And them?" the rider calling himself Semirechye pointed at my companions.

"He's Martti, he's Aimo," I said.

"Same unit?"

"Same unit."

"You are heading down to the beaches?" Semirechye eyed me.

"Wherever's furthest from the Perfs. Our sarn't ordered us to save ourselves 'fore he bought the farm."

"I see, well then you had best follow me, I am returning there."

Clicking his tongue, Semirechye steered his horse back in the direction he had come from.

"Well how 'bout that?" Martti marvelled at the strange beast. He had never seen a horse before, none were bred on Nereus. "Look at its tail!"

Aimo's concerns were different. "Why the Alderians?" he said softly so the rider did not overhear.

"He could be a provost, looking for deserters to plug in the line," I replied, keeping my tone low. "If he knew we was part of the regiment manning the perimeter he'd just hoik us back over there or shoot us, better we're in some forgotten unit that no-one's ever 'eard of."

"Yeah, yeah, see your point, Larn," Aimo nodded. "Back on the line, what you did…"

"Leave it alone," I said a little too sharply. On hearing the words leave my mouth I felt an instant stab of regret. "Sorry, Aimo, sorry, dunno why I said that; I'm just…"

"Don't mean nothing," said Aimo, leaving my side and falling back a few paces.

" _I'm alright…_ "

Lowering my head, I felt my shoulders sag. A hand I clutched to my chest where I could feel the ache and infection spreading slowly through me.

* * *

 _Fort Sturnn…_

"Those are my terms, general," Izuru said, spreading her hands wide. All her cards were on the table, she now waited for the decision.

General Vorbeck tapped ash into a tray on his desk from the lit cigarette held between his fore and index finger. Taking another drag he said, "And I have my orders too, ambassador. The Nemesis Front as of today has been written off by Segmentum Command, they have ordered the withdrawal of my headquarters to Cadia."

"If you would agree to my terms our fleet could have transports on the ground within a half hour to evacuate the fort's personnel."

Vorbeck got up slowly from the chair, his joints creaking audibly. They ached terribly from constantly being on his feet. He was close to passing out.

"If you would just say _yes_ , general."

"It is not the fort I am concerned about, ambassador," Vorbeck said, his back to Izuru. "You don't know, do you?"

"Know what?"

"There are more than three hundred thousand men surrounded in Karamaya just along the coast from here, five thousand guarding the perimeter, and only two thousand here," Vorbeck said flatly.

"…Gracious, I did not know," Izuru's gaze dropped to the table.

"It rather complicates the situation does it not? Furthermore an unknown number of civilians have taken shelter in the city. They are depending on us to protect them."

"Do the city's defences hold firm?"

"Since their last communique, yes, but that was an hour ago and no word has been heard since," Vorbeck sighed. "Command, in their infinite wisdom, has ordered me to withdraw."

"Our fleet cannot take you all there simply aren't enough transports to spare."

"No, Command has ordered only me and my headquarters out," Vorbeck said firmly. "They are asking me to abandon my men and thousands of imperial subjects," he snapped his fingers, "like a scythe sweeping through a cornfield – _whoosh_ – and they are all gone."

"Enslavement, torture and death…" Izuru's stomach knotted in dread.

"And I am afraid now. For the first time since I left the Schola Progenium a fresh-faced subaltern, I do not know what to do."

"As an imperial soldier your first duty is to the people…"

"As an imperial _officer_ my first duty is to the Emperor, it has always been the Emperor. High Command is the voice of the Emperor out here and I am compelled to obey their every word."

"Then do not."

"What?" Vorbeck spun and stared at Izuru, aghast at such a notion.

"Listen to me, general, it is not about the Emperor any more, it is not about the Imperium any more. Forgive me for speaking out of turn but you must save as many people as you can."

Izuru sprang to her feet and extended a hand. "Accept the hand of friendship, let us begin co-operating."

"Heresy, treason" Vorbeck spat. "Never before have xenos and humans fought side by side—"

"On the contrary it is not an uncommon sight, general, I assure you," Izuru said coolly.

"Well, if you speak the truth then… but I cannot act without consulting my superiors; I need authority."

" _You_ are the authority here, general, it is your call."

"Do I have your word the ships will be here?"

"I swear on my Chief Farseer's life that the ships will be delivered to wherever you choose."

"Were the situation not so dire…"

"You would refuse, I understand completely."

"Landing zones will need to be established both here and in Karamaya."

"It will be done."

Vorbeck searched Izuru's eyes for traces of deceit but found none. "Very well, from this moment on a truce is in effect between the joint Guard-Navy force on Nemtess and the warriors of the Craftworld…"

"Ulthwé, general," Izuru clasped Vorbeck's hand. "We are proud to stand alongside the human race in these dark times."

Vorbeck snorted, "you barely tolerate us as it is, when you're not busy raiding our shipping…"

"Corsairs, in no way affiliated with Craftworlders I assure you," Izuru said quickly.

"Alas I cannot tell a corsair from a craftworlder, ambassador," Vorbeck said. "You all look alike."

"There is one other favour I would ask of you, general."

"Very well, ask away," Vorbeck leant wearily on the back of his chair, stifling a cough.

"There was another I was brought here with, another of my kind."

Vorbeck frowned, "I knew nothing of this, ambassador, but I will see to it that he is returned to you post-haste."

"She, general, she has red hair, wears white armour and has a bandaged eye; gratitude," she bowed.

"Also…" Vorbeck took an officer's laspistol from a drawer and slipped it into the empty holster around his waist. "There are those here who would see you shot dead on sight, and they are not far away."

"Your blessed inquisition no doubt," Izuru said mildly. "The tales I have heard of their – ah – dedication to purging so-called xenos and heretics is most… interesting."

"I hope you will understand but I must see to this at once. Please remain here for you own safety, ambassador."

"I await your return."

Vorbeck noticed with worry the absence of the inquisitorial official when he returned to the operations centre. Self-consciously he felt for the weight of his laspistol on his hip. If the inquisition got wind of Xenos on the fort's premises they would shoot first and probably not even bother asking why. Vorbeck was now striving to apprehend them first before inevitable conflict ensued.

"Sarn't Major!" Vorbeck called to his senior non-commissioned officer.

"Sir?" the Nerian's regimental sergeant major was by his side instantly.

"Get a squad, men you trust, and apprehend the gentleman in black with the leatherbound book on his belt," Vorbeck said, keeping his voice low.

"Yes, sir, the gentleman stepped out about ten minutes ago."

"Then hurry!"

"Sir! Right, you four men, with me, on the double!" the RSM beckoned to some idle NCOs and, clasping his hands behind his back, stalked out of the room.

" _Let there be no bloodshed_ ," Vorbeck prayed. " _Enough has been spilled already_."

The general was just being brought up to speed on the situation in Karamaya by Colonel Creel and Zandyke when the room fell silent.

"What is…?" Vorbeck turned around alarmed at the chatter dying away to see Izuru striding towards him. The other officers in the room began muttering and pointing at her, surprised and none too pleased on seeing a Stickie in their midst.

"You were instructed to remain in my office, ambassador—" Vorbeck began only for her to interrupt.

"Keladi is no longer in her cell. I can sense her being moved."

 _The Inquisition_ , Vorbeck guessed immediately who the culprits were. "Lockdown the basement," he snapped.

"No, I will confront them alone, do not attempt to interfere."

"You are not in a position to be giving orders, ambassador, this is a human matter."

"Cut the power down there and I will do you a favour. No more inquisitors breathing down your neck, general."

"Now see here, xeno!" Colonel Zandyke blurted his face the colour of beetroot.

Vorbeck silenced him. "And what do you propose to do?"

"Why, rescue my charge and eliminate the threats to your command," Izuru made for the nearest exit. "Do not come between the eldar and their prey!"

"Let her through," Vorbeck ordered the two sentries on either side of the door that had their hands on their holstered sidearms.

 _I'm coming, Keladi,_ Izuru thought determinedly, sweeping past the nonplussed humans. Despite being empty-handed there was nought a few of the inquisition's soldiers could do to bring down a ranger. And it had been too long since she had been in a real fight.

* * *

Interrogator Saloth Sar Raza swept through the basement corridors of Fort Sturnn, flanked by eight bodyguards of the Militarum Tempestus, each one wearing the maroon beret denoting their elite status. In their hands Ryza hellguns hummed gently. The squeak of boot heels and the soft creak of leather echoed off of the walls, as did the sound of feet dragging along the floor.

 _Such a frail creature,_ Raza glanced over his shoulder at the xeno held between two scions, _a pitiful sight._

There was little that escaped Raza's experienced eyes, he had been fully aware of the Xenos presence ever since their arrival at the fort. Capturing a howling banshee would finally let him ascend to the coveted rank of inquisitor.

 _They called me a passed-over interrogator_ , Raza thought smugly, activating his long-range transmitter. His master would surely not ignore this achievement.

For a few seconds the connection stabilised then the blurred head and shoulders of the Inquisitor materialised, casting green light on Raza and his entourage.

Osvat Radu Zeleska's mouth moved but no sound came out.

"My Lord, news from Nemesis Tessera."

As the image steadied the sound followed. Inquisitor Zeleska's face grew less fuzzy.

"Interrogator Raza, the hour is late. Am I to assume this is not a personal call?" Zeleska rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger.

"Apologies, Lord," Raza bowed his head, "word from Nemesis Tessera."

"Fort Sturnn?" Zeleska held up a finger.

"Yes, My Lord, I have in my possession an eldar banshee!"

"Good tidings indeed," Zeleska's smile widened. "Show me the xeno."

The cloth sack was pulled from the banshee's head and she was bought forwards under the inquisitor's eye.

"A fine catch," Zeleska drunk in the xeno's exotic form, his gaze fixing on her thick red hair, "such a shame about the face though."

"One of the scions hit her a little too hard. The eye was not of our doing."

"I see, punish the one responsible and bring the xeno to me unharmed. I have many many questions for her," Zeleska's face glowed. His pale eyes were wide and unblinking.

"With all haste, My Lord."

Raza paused at the end of the long corridor where a set of doors led inside a lift. "We shall be warpside within a quarter of an hour."

The scion to Raza's left pressed the button to summon the lift that would ferry them down to an underground hangar. Unbeknownst to the imperials the sub-level cave was packed with inquisitorial spacecraft, they were not to know however, it being the sole property of the Inquisition.

Raza, unsuspecting, was caught off-guard when the striplighting suddenly shut off plunging the corridor into darkness, "what?"

"Interrogator?" Zeleska's satisfied expression vanished.

"The power has gone out," Raza glanced at the scion who tapped at the lift's control panel.

"Apologies, Lord," he said.

"You two, go back and find out what is going on – take the thermals with you!"

"Interrogator!" the scions, one wearing night-vision aid, hurried away into the darkness.

"There's the auxiliary…" Raza was bathed in red light as the basement's backup power kicked in. "Scion?"

"Begging your pardon, Interrogator, I will need to access the inner workings," the scion said, producing a multi-armed tool.

"Be quick about it," Raza licked his lips nervously. The sudden power outage and the presence of the dark corridor stretching away unnerved him. This was no coincidence.

 _Vorbeck,_ Raza seethed. Vorbeck was behind this, he had to be, him and his xeno friends; the traitor.

"Interrogator!" one of the scions aimed his hellgun into the black space beyond where the lights ended prompting the others to do the same.

"Hold your fire," Raza whispered. Closing his eyes he stretched his ears out. The corridor was deathly silent.

"She's…" a voice gasped.

A collective whir as the scions disengaged safeties, preparing to fire.

"She's here…" the same voice moaned.

Backing up against the door, Raza shifted to one side, placing his bodyguards between himself and whatever was out there, no longer feeling like a hero but a cornered rat.

A gentle breeze brushed Raza's cheek making the hairs on his arms rise. Over the laboured breathing of the scions he felt a distant howl pick up, suddenly gushing down the corridor, billowing through his hair.

Shielding his face from the gale Raza froze, cold fear gripping him. Just beyond the edge of the dim light, at the furthest point away from Raza, one of the scions shuffled into view.

"Help me," the Scion begged tearfully. His arms and legs were bound and blood ran down his face.

"God-Emperor…" Raza gasped on seeing the scion come into the light. Both of his eyes had been punctured, bloody tears oozed down his cheeks.

Then behind the man a figure wrapped in a cloak melted from the shadows, underneath its hood a pair of gold eyes glowed faintly. Raising its head the figures' eyes flared, trails of smoke rose from them; a ripple of psychic energy buzzed in the air.

"OPEN FIRE!" Raza screamed.

The ranks of scions opened up, filling the corridor with green lasbolts. Caught inbetween his comrades and their target, the blinded scion dropped dead. Beyond him the eldar's eyes blazed with a terrible fury. Gliding towards them almost leisurely she raised her arms up by her sides, little jolts of energy crackling from her fingertips, not one of the hellgun bolts piercing the invisible ward that shielded her.

Raza, trapped, could only watch the xeno advance menacingly on him, never breaking stride or even blinking in the face of such a storm of fire.

The reserve power began to fail, the red bulbs flickering on and off, each time the lights returned the xeno was closer.

Pressing himself against the wall, Raza fired his laspistol alongside the scions, willing, hoping it would do something to check the xeno's relentless advance.

A scion dropped his hellgun, clutching his head and crying. Another too was assailed by a psychic force, so potent it was he fell to his knees, writhing in agony.

"No, no, no," Raza devolved into a blubbering wreck as scion after scion bore the brunt of the xeno's burning wrath. He saw through tear-filled eyes the nightmarish glow of the xeno's own eyes in the dark scant feet from him.

Iron claws hooked around Raza's throat. His feet left the floor to dangle in the air. Gurgling for breath Raza kicked feebly at the xeno, achieving nothing. His dead was a slow, painful, choking one.

A primal snarl was on Izuru's lips as she tightened her hold on the inquisitor's throat. The power of the Farseer flowed through her body and mind channelling the storm of the Warp. Not since her fight with Princess Saarania had Izuru felt such a keen hate for her enemy, a hate which made her strong.

The human's struggles ceased as his windpipe was crushed, rendering him limp. Flicking her wrist lazily she tossed the body away. On doing so the eldritch storm she had summoned ended, silence once again took hold and she became Izuru again.

"Keladi!" Izuru knelt down and dragged the bag from her head. "Keladi?"

The young banshee's nose had swollen up and her left cheek was purple from bruising. The bandage she wore had grown dirty. Signs of abuse were all over her face.

"Please," Izuru touched Keladi's forehead, delving into her mind.

 _Unconscious_ , Izuru tilted her head upwards and let out a breath she had not realised she had been holding, relief warming her heart.

"Come, let us leave this place," Izuru muttered, slipping her hands beneath the banshee's legs and waist before picking her up like an adult would a child.

A slow sarcastic clapping broke the silence, words laced with mirth rose from a round palm-sized communicator lying face down beside the human's body.

"Well, aren't you tenacious… xeno?"

Turning device face-up Izuru saw a clean, well-dressed human smiling up at her, his dazzling boyish good looks not at all suiting his deep, authoritative voice that oozed charm.

"My, you are tenacious aren't you?" the man bared his perfect teeth. "And… oh such a lovely face."

Izuru said nothing, glaring at the inquisitor with unveiled contempt.

"There is more to you than meets the eye isn't there," the inquisitor mused. "Half-breed—"

Izuru brought her boot down on the inquisitor's head, stamping the communicator into pieces on the floor. The inquisitor's words stunned her briefly then she remembered Keladi.

 _We are leaving_.

She squeezed the girls' hand, trying to forget the face of the inquisitor.

* * *

The giant column of black smoke came from a collection of smaller fires burning in and around a massive steelworks that loomed against the sky, its one remaining spire towered over us as our group drew closer.

Plodding along a set of railway tracks I felt the straps of my pack coupled with the bulk of my flak jacket weighing heavy on my shoulders making me stoop. The roar of the fires burning in the forest of concrete and iron carried for miles. Above it was the clip-clop of horse hooves and the weary trudge of three pairs of boots.

Even here behind the lines there were signs of retreat and general disorganisation. Some open-topped Hennus trucks and a single Wolf were sitting abandoned around the tracks with flat tyres and punctured radiators. A Scoba 90 mm anti-aircraft gun on its four-wheeled carriage had also been left behind. A disinterested glance showed its breechblock had been removed and the sights destroyed.

Now that we were clear of the city centre there was a definite chill in the air so much I turned the collar of my jacket up and clasped the edges of my battered flak together.

Aimo, less worn out than Martti and I, hoisted himself up onto a fallen girder that had been part of a spire and walked along it, ending up on a tall outcrop of rock. Taking off his helmet he hung it over an ammunition pouch and had a look around at our surroundings.

"There," he pointed, noticing something over westwards.

"Your friend knows where to go," Semirechye tipped his fur hat to us. "I must return to my unit. Good luck to you now!"

Kicking his heels the rider galloped off across the waste.

"What's he seen?" Martti wondered.

I said nothing, hitched up my pack and moved on, forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other.

Beyond the steelworks a plethora of vehicles in varying states of disrepair, some smouldering, blackened from fire, some burning fiercely were scattered around, their owners presumably under orders to disable all unsalvageable weaponry and transportation. Covering our mouths and noses with scarves and handkerchiefs we toiled through, trying to shield our smarting eyes. The stifling smoke made me cough and splutter; I could feel the fever getting worse.

Freed from the oppressive murk hanging around the factory, the sun broke through the clouds warming the path we trod which ran parallel to a large dike.

"Time is it?" Martti asked.

"'Bout half four," Aimo replied, climbing hand and foot up the steep slope.

"Lads…" I heard him say.

"What?" I stopped and listened, wiggling a finger in my ear to stave off the infernal buzzing I'd had ever since the fight.

"Think we're here."

"What? _Here_ here?" Martti followed Aimo upwards, curious at what he'd seen.

"Oh throne," he fell to his knees on cresting the dike.

"Fuck me," Aimo panted.

He beckoned to me to come up, a considerable effort as I was now feeling faint and dizzy.

"Lookit that."

I collapsed next to Martti out of breath. I could find no words to describe such a spectacle.

Beyond the dike was a plain of sand, a beach, nearly a kilometre and a half wide and many more long. Crowding it were thousands and thousands of soldiers either milling in groups, ambling about or waiting patiently in lines that zigzagged from the edge of the great frozen sea back and back all the way to the dike in places, sometimes even out of sight. The few light vehicles that had been driven down onto the beach now acted as makeshift tents, their bodies anchoring rain capes and tarpaulins forming crude bivouacs that men slept under. The stench of burning rubber was in the air, tyres from the cars and trucks were being routinely thrown in heaps and set alight. There was bitter wind blowing with nearly every man wearing poncho or greatcoat or simply huddling around the warm cinders inside burnt-out fuel drums. The scent of defeat hung in the air.

The three of us descended the slope, now that we had made it I wasn't sure what we were supposed to do, there appeared to be no sign of the Navy or any sign of evacuation for that matter. Were it not for the looming threat of the Perfs I might have mistaken the crowds of men being on exercises back home.

"Oi look, officers!" Aimo tugged my arm. "Look, mate, let's go ask them what we're doing now."

"Navy," Martti muttered seeing the dark grey uniforms worn by the cadre of navy men who were headed by a tall lieutenant commander.

"Yeah, let me do the talking," I decided.

* * *

Lieutenant Commander Julius Kersch had silently accepted his posting to the beaches outside Karamaya with quiet reservation though inwardly he was fuming. This was no way to treat a lieutenant commander in His Imperial Majesty's Navy. _I command ships_ , _not a blasted beach!_

Ever since the scuttling of his ship in orbit, the destroyer, Firebrand, Kersh had been stuck ashore at Fort Sturnn with nary a desk to command. His superior, Vice Admiral Paderwicz had then shunted him away from the protection of the fort to the beaches supposedly to get the troops who were arriving in their thousands and mostly without leadership organised. What Kersh had thought would be a few thousand men turned out to be hundreds of thousands. He realised with a sinking heart his job had just got a whole lot harder.

"Sir?" a voice called.

Kersh had learned to ignore the countless questions hurled at him. Just because he was an officer did not mean he knew everything.

"Sir, s'cuse me."

Kersh glanced round and saw a very young soldier, helmetless and looking terribly ill, jog up with two companions in his wake.

"S'cuse me, sir we just arrived here, can you tell us what we're s'posed to be doing?" the young soldier, a corporal, asked.

"Find a spot and stay there," Kersh replied tersely, walking through a gap in a line made by two rifle-toting bodyguards.

"Where's the Navy?" the corporal enquired. "They gonna come pick us up?"

"Haven't seen hide nor hair of our ships in forty-eight hours, three of them that came in were shot up by the Perfs when they set down, the Tyrrhenia went under the ice, that's what's burning out there," Kersh jerked a thumb at a tall piece of flaming wreckage that stuck out of the ice at an angle. "Bloody disaster, eight thousand men drowned or burnt to death, absolute fucking disgrace," Kersh snarled.

Beside him the short corporal had to practically run to keep up with his long strides, "is there – is there any word at all of the Navy, because, well, we need to get off…" he babbled.

"You are one of several hundred thousand men here, corporal, I suggest you line up with the others and wait your turn," Kersh said, trying not to look at the young man's pale, sickly face rather focusing on the hundreds of helmets bobbing around. Irritatingly the corporal had started to walk backwards in front of him.

"Just be grateful you're not a civvy or wounded, corporal, because they will be left behind when the Navy picks us up," Kersh changed direction abruptly, his party following. He did not notice the soldier lunge wildly for him only to be restrained by one of his comrades.

* * *

"Oi leave it, James, what's got into ya?" Martti steered me away from the naval officer I had flung myself at. "Don't listen to him, he's full of crap, course he is he's bloody navy. You can't trust 'em when they're waltzing about off their ships."

"Load of butt-stroking, fancy-uniformed twat-heads," Aimo put delicately.

"Don't we butt-stroke?" Martti said, confused.

"We butt-strike, Martti!" Aimo mimed smacking something with his rifle. "Butt-stroking's for the Navy, they wouldn't know how to swing a rifle let alone fire one. Too much cock up their arses."

"Yeah, you bet your arse they like it up there – a lot!"

The revelation that we would be stuck here for an uncertain amount of time dragged my spirits down to the lowest point they had ever been.

All around us soldiers gathered in large groups and small, some playing football, other lounging about on chairs underneath umbrellas they had scrounged not caring whether there was a war on. The toot of a harmonica being played carried over the buzz of conversation and crackling flames, a haunting yet heart-stirring tune.

Winding my way through a row of trio of flatbed Hennus' that had their wheels dug deeply into the sand I eyed a pair of soldiers servicing two Rekyl's amidst piles of splintered crates before carrying on. My attention caught on a shrill whinny and I realised Semirechye's unit, the Atreides Cavalry, were up ahead. It was my intent to ask them to spare a little food and water. I had not drunk anything in a while and was severely dehydrated and fast growing weak from hunger.

A loud gunshot cut through the air unexpectedly.

* * *

Cyrano Semirechye rode his horse through streets packed with people, soldier and civilian alike. A truck marked as a medical vehicle inched through, its driver honking the horn and repeatedly slamming his hand on the door to get the crowd to part.

Cyrano the Romantic, the men of Number 1 Squadron called him. It was true six weeks previously Cyrano had met and fallen in love with Ilona Savage, a Ligurian girl. They had spent the forty-eight hours of Cyrano's leave together before getting married. Cyrano had then embarked on a transport with the rest of his squadron and left but had promised to return to Liguria once his tour was up. His comrades suspected that it was the romantic image of the cavalryman sitting astride his mount with broadsword drawn that attracted her but Cyrano knew different. He knew Ilona was the one and the only one. He repeated in his head over and over Ilona's last words: _come back to me, come back to me._ That was what drove him on, kept him going, the deep affection her felt for her and she him.

His horse, numbered 3242, carried Cyrano out into a wide dirt road before the beach where the men of the 25th Battalion, Cullen Fusiliers had dug themselves in behind piles of sand reinforced by hardbags as a last line defence if the perimeter was breached.

Clicking his tongue Cyrano manoeuvred 3242 down a set of steps in a smooth concrete slope that made up the seawall and steered towards the waiting ranks of his squadron, all of whom were on foot.

"Your High Wellborn," Cyrano raised his right hand in salute to his squadron commander, Yesaul Vezdekh who stood dismounted beside his horse.

"Sotnik Semirechye, address your Yesaul from afoot," Vezdekh pointed at the ground.

"Are we to deploy, Your High Wellborn?" Cyrano asked, dropping from his saddle. "Our blades have yet to find a taste for the enemy's blood."

"There will be no deployment, Sotnik. All offensive operations have been postphoned indefinitely."

"We have scarcely been planetside a week. The men have not yet had a chance to exercise the horses, what better way to do it than engage the enemy?"

"You are not aware of the situation unfolding outside this city are you, Sotnik Semirechye?" Yesaul Vezdekh said coldly. "It is decidedly biased against the use of cavalry," he tugged his fur-lined gloves from his hands and made a face. "Sadly there is no call for horsemen in this theatre. I fear we may be of little use to the rest of the blessed Imperial Guard here."

"What do we do then, Your High Wellborn?" Cyrano glanced up and down the row of waiting men and horses.

"Render all equipment we cannot carry on our person useless to the enemy so he cannot take control of it and stain it with his foul taint," Vezdekh replied, straightening his fur hat. "That is what the other units are doing therefore we must follow suit."

Cyrano led his horse after Vezdekh. He did not like what the Yesaul meant, _render all equipment useless,_ if so then what about the horses?

"Hold it still," Vezdekh ordered, unclipping his holster and drawing his service pistol.

Cyrano realised with horror what was about to happen yet clamped his jaw shut. 3242 bucked and tried to run as if having a premonition of imminent death.

Cyrano looked away before the first gunshot. He heard the sharp crack swiftly followed by the sound of a body hitting the sand.

* * *

"Why are they…?" Martti ran a few paces ahead of Aimo and I, dismayed at seeing one of the Atreides' horses shot dead. "How can they…?"

His distress was shared by other troops nearby who stood with helmets removed and bowed heads, saddened at having to witness the helpless animals being put down.

I drew alongside the second and watched as an officer pointed a pistol at the head of the terrified horse and pulled the trigger. Aimo beside me visibly flinched and had to look away. The horse gave a scream and fell on its side, blood spurting from its head, sticking in its proud mane.

"Check it," the officer said, cocking his revolver and waiting for the confirmation before moving to the next.

Cyrano Semirechye was there holding the reins of his horse. He gave us a pleading look when another Atreides purebred died. I had to look away then too, seeing the poor man's despair was, put lightly, heartbreaking.

The last man in line, the one who had to wait the longest, was brushing his horse's mane and whispering soothingly to it. The cavalryman was young, my age, and he was doing all he could to take his mount's mind off the deaths of the other horses. I heard no words spoken but it became plain the boy was crying.

The shots rang in our ears for a while as Aimo and I trudged further along and came upon a fallen scout walker that was crawling with soldiers, some lying on their backs, others sitting with their legs dangling over the side. Beside it a chaplain, assisted by a ring of despondent-looking lads, was feeding copies of the Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer into a fire, his face glowing in the heat.

Men on stretchers were carried by. Others suffering from shock were helped on by their friends, some in such a bad way they were corpselike and limp, having to be born aloft.

I had never seen so many men in one place. And we were all trapped, caught like fish in a barrel. Turning around in a circle, I wiped my sweaty forehead and found myself again lost for words. It was a living nightmare.

* * *

Grace Langstrand clutched her daughter Hope to her and tried to shut her ears to the bangs they were hearing. The few other children who had made it to the beach with their parents sat playing with a broken dolls house seemingly deaf to the gunshots occurring. When asked why the children gave no reaction or made no comment, the parents said that the bombing had left them all deaf. Grace hugged her daughter tighter now.

Being in the presence of so many imperial soldiers was more frightening than the threat of the enemy. She had seen women turned out of the columns of refugees and taken out of sight by groups of men supposedly to check whether their papers were in order. Harrowing as it was Grace had been lucky, managing to bring Hope through without either of them getting hurt.

Hearing a commotion behind her, Grace did not turn to look and wished she too was deaf. A short scuffle between two men ended with both rolling down the seawall and crashing into some crates and loose bricks. On the road above cheers could be heard. Blocking the raucous shouts out Grace's ears picked up the sound of singing.

A choir had gathered around an intact monument and were in the beginnings of a song the words of which were familiar to Grace. It was a well-known hymn called simply: Emperor of Mankind. Focusing solely on the voices Grace recited the verses in her head and began to sing softly to Hope.

"… _Breathe through the heats of our desire, thy coolness and thy balm. Let sense be dumb, let flesh retire, speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire; O still small voice of calm, O still small voice of calm…"_

* * *

Martti, Aimo and I wandered into one another on the promenade near where the choir was singing. Around it were a few Scoba 40 mm AA batteries and a Krupnok .50 calibre stubber mounted on a tripod protecting the choir. All along the seafront the buildings were in states of disarray, routinely coming under attack from the air or being looted by roving troopers.

The will to fight had been sapped from so many men, men who no longer cared and just sat around reading, having a brew or slept out in the open.

"Unbelievable," Martti said glumly.

"Dunno," Aimo shrugged, not knowing what to make of it.

I kept moving northwards along the road, my two companion's closeby. "I need a brew," I decided.

"You need one," Martti took me by the shoulder and helped me along. "You're looking grey, don't he look grey?"

"Bloody 'ell, mate, you look terrible, let me feel," Aimo tried to touch my cheek.

"I 'ave to get something to drink that's all," I batted his hand away, not wanting him to discover my worsening condition.

At that moment a drunken soldier wearing only his trousers and carrying a sloshing bottle careened into us from behind.

"Oi, off oughta it!" Aimo yanked him away from me by his trouser braces and shoved him on his back.

"Cor," Martti grimaced as the drunkards' mates sauntered over and laughed at their friend lying in the dirt.

"Could use a spotta whiskey," Aimo said.

Coming across an array of parked vehicles we heard the whine of their engines all running. Each truck had its engine set to fast idle and was in the process of having its radiator drained. A well-placed bash with a riflebutt against the front grill saw to it that none of the vehicles would be of any use to the enemy.

"There," I pointed at a sign that said 'billets' above an arrow.

"Come on," I led the others up a set of steps and along a walkway that looked out over the crowded beach; it too was packed with men drinking, smoking and chatting.

I stayed for a brief moment beside the iron rail and looked out at the broken army, a circus of defeat and chaos. In the distance the last of the horses fell. Shaking my head in despair I followed Martti and Aimo inside.

The 'billet', a bar, was packed to bursting with drunken guardsmen shouting, singing and banging away at musical instruments; the tunes inharmonious and grating. Spilt Liquor, mucus and vomit stained the floor making it sticky underfoot.

Fighting our way through the crowd I leant over the bar, delving around for any full bottles. Martti pulled some green bottles up from a cupboard but dropped them in disgust when he found each one of them empty.

"Anything?" I mouthed, it being too noisy to talk at normal level.

"Nah," Martti shook his head. "Try out the back?"

A bottle was smashed against the back wall, dumping glass everywhere and compelling us to hasten away from the turbulent company.

In the comparatively seedy back rooms there was a single iron tap that mercifully hadn't rusted and appeared in working order. Twisting it first one way then the other, I ducked my head underneath it and opened my mouth. Not a single drop came out.

Groaning in pain, I slumped against the wall headfirst the dizziness returning. Outside I heard a thumping, the anti-aircraft batteries had opened up on something. Deciding I did not want to be anywhere near the beach when the bombers arrived I found Martti who was still empty-handed and dragged him out of a back exit and away from the beach.

* * *

We had lost Aimo, I did not notice it until night had fallen. Amongst the ruined infrastructure a stone's throw from the beach we wandered, Martti calling out Aimo's name every so often. The few that hadn't taken shelter in warehouses or basements we encountered drifting about in varying states of inebriation.

"Hold up a mo, James, got a stone," Martti stopped and fiddled with his right boot.

In a partial daze I turned my sore eyes outwards. Every now and again my vision blurred and I felt myself dropping off. Then in a lit opening between two curtains I saw her.

"Wait here," I said woodenly.

"Uh?" Martti looked up at me baffled.

A figure with long dark hair in robes flashed past the doorway, the barest glimpse of her eyes drew me after her.

The darkened rooms I passed through were filled with animal corpses hanging from meathooks, a slaughterhouse. Rotting meat had attracted flies that buzzed around, brushing my cheeks and nose. With the smell was an accompanying heat, muggy and stifling. Pulling the snaps of my flak jacket open, I undid my belt kit and let the two ends hang loose. I came upon a warmly lit room squeezed in between the fly-infested corpses. Wallpaper peeling away in places ran up the walls, a comfortable-looking couch was there under a tall lamp.

"Why don't you sit down?" a familiar voice said.

Izuru stood between the light and the dark, one hand resting on the doorframe. Half-turned towards her I ran a hand over my eyes, she did not disappear. For the first time I could see her face clearly, it was not out of focus like before.

I half-fell onto the couch and sat there limply, "it's so hot in here."

Izuru stepped into the light. I recognised her firm, proud face and her strong nose. Her hair, dark and flowing hung loose behind her. Kneeling in front of me she began to unwind my puttees. I let her take my boots of one after the other, too tired to protest.

"I made a promise…"

Izuru said nothing. A bucket of warm water was there beside her, taking my foot she drew it under the surface and began to wash it. The pleasant sensation brought a smile to my face then I remembered.

"I made a promise to my – to my mates, said I'd bring 'em all through alive. They're all just lads, all of 'em, boys who don't know why they're doin' what they're doin'."

Izuru listened, tenderly rubbing inbetween my toes.

"They don't understand the whys of all this just that their job's to die holding the line and all that. But that's not the point…" I swallowed. "Point is I _made_ a promise to get 'em home safely. And I failed."

An explosion bathed Izuru's face in an orange glow, the whine of jet engines were in the sky. Bombs were dropping.

"Izuru, I'm…" I was cut off by a high-pitched whine directly above my head that grew louder and louder.

"Izuru – Izuru get out!" I gasped, hearing the falling bomb. A scream of broken glass and metal and everything went black.

The light had vanished when I came to. Lying on my back amidst bags of meat that had been ripped from their hooks I heard the buzz of flies and tasted the scent of death on my tongue.

Both of my boots were beside me, my feet were still sore and stinking. Grabbing the two I tied the laces together and hung them around my neck.

"Oi 'old up there, mate!" Martti leapt up from the stack of covered crates he'd been sitting on when he caught me running out of the building. "Wha' you done with your boots?"

"Ta, mate I'm fine too," I replied hoarsely.

"Heard the bombs in there, thought you was a goner."

"Took one to the face, bounced off me," I replied deliriously.

"You sure you're alright?" Martti took me by the arm as I stumbled. "Them socks ain't gonna do you no good, lemme put your boots back on for you."

After a few minutes hobbling, I conceded and followed Martti into a gloomy factory. By the light of a flare Martti lit up we saw the tightly packed confines. Every inch of space was taken up by bodies, men sitting, dozing or listening to the bombs.

"Down here," Martti aimed the flare at a narrow stairway leading to the basement. "Here looks good."

Pausing at the top of the stairs for a beat I descended them on by one.

"Here we go," Martti helped me out of my flak jacket and pack. "Oh careful, mind your head" he gently lowered me into a spot underneath a square storage tank, propping his pack underneath my head and covering me with his rain cape.

"Right, tuck yourself in, keep yourself warm and try and get some sleep now," he patted me on the shoulder.

"I'm going home," I whispered.

"Course you are," Martti dug out a set of photos held together with string. "Here's home, you'll be there soon."

Taking the pictures, I drew the cape over my head and struck up a match. Jumael looked lovely like it always had, great green rolling fields, warm summers, good harvests rarely spoilt. My old life flashed before me in picture form. My heart ached for home.

I was asleep before the tiny flame burnt itself out.


	37. Chapter 36

04:46 (Agripinaa time)/M41/03-40.999/Inquisitorial Cruiser Zarkaniy /Haven Orbit/Agripinaa Sector/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

The scathing words of Lord Inquisitor Torquemada Coteaz had long left Osvat Radu Zeleska's ears as had the silent screams of the concubines he had disposed of ahead of the Lord's arrival. Zeleska, for a time, watched the bodies drifting in space quietly fascinated though also for the purpose of verifying that they were indeed dead. He was not normally a patient man but in this case it would pay to make sure none of the women survived the cold of the vacuum, for there was a chance, however slim, that one could remain alive for a short period of time without a pressure suit. He had tried it successfully and if he could survive so could they. It came as little surprise that none did. Too bad, they were weak, lovely but weak. And Kora was strong.

Zeleska had kept Kora for himself not because she was inquisition and technically a colleague but because she was perfect in every way. His gentle grooming after the rigorous conditioning he had put her through had brought her round to him magnificently. During the Lord Inquisitor's stay on the Zarkaniy she reassumed the role of inquisitorial agent to perfection, surprising even Zeleska and charming the Lord Inquisitor.

All that had passed and Zeleska could once again do with her as he pleased. When he wasn't indulging in his sport, chasing down heretics and flaying them before setting his caged cyberhounds on them, he was with Kora. It was a mercy and a privilege he had told her after a session, she was in his care and would thank him for everything he had done for her. After all Zeleska lived in the very highest echelons of society and was used to the best the imperium had to offer. If the common hiver struggled to acquire something – a pair of shoes, underwear, even a loaf of bread – then Zeleska had two of everything; as well as Kora.

"Kora, do you love me?" he had asked one time.

"Yes, my lord," she said without hesitation.

To anything he said she would reply, "yes, my lord." And he loved it.

Something else now was gnawing at his mind. Not the battered red-haired xeno but the Stickie that so quickly and efficiently killed Interrogator Raza and his bodyguards and that face of hers that had aroused his curiosity. Even the pale green holographic image could not disguise the features of a half-caste; it was a most extraordinary discovery one Zeleska could not ignore.

Restless and with no desire to sleep Zeleska rose from his bed, donned a robe and adjourned to the main chamber. The fire had burnt out leaving nought but glowing embers, everywhere lying deep in shadow.

Unlocking a side room the inquisitor pressed a palm against a blank panel which lit up half a dozen pict screens in the opposite wall, bathing him in pale a green glow. He sat in a leather high-backed chair and called up the closest pict. Once past the retina and vocal scan, Zeleska touched the air where the keys hovered and typed the fifteen-digit unlock code carefully. One mistake and the room would seal and fill with the incredibly potent nerve agent 'GB', with a single drop the size of a pinhead able to kill an adult human in the space of a minute. Ever cautious, Zeleska backtracked and retyped the code three times, his sleep-befuddled senses making his brain sluggish.

With the picts successfully unlocked, Zeleska called up the long list of contacts he maintained throughout the imperium. As an inquisitor he had eyes and ears on every planet in Segmentum Obscurus. None of them interested him, it was only Nemesis Tessera.

Nemtess, as it had been abbreviated, was a barren and desolate ice ball with its only value being it held a top-secret underground facility for housing captured warp creatures. Neither the Imperial Guard nor the forces of Chaos were aware of the base's existence; both too busy killing the other to bother to look which suited Zeleska fine. With both Coteaz and Raza gone there were at that point no ranking agents or even acolytes on station there. It was enough to make Zeleska consider jumping the Zarkaniy there to track down the half-breed xeno himself. He toyed with the notion for a moment before reconsidering.

There was one man who could help him, an old acquaintance whose name stayed snugly at the very bottom of Zeleska's list. Where there were names and titles on every line his was given by codename only: _Stilio._

"Stilio," he said softly, waiting for the link to establish.

Zeleska's authority and powerful transmitter theoretically permitted him instant access to anywhere within the imperium, in practice however his reach only extended as far as the Astronomican could.

"Salutations, uncle," Zeleska inclined his head respectfully as a ghostly green figure swept into view onscreen.

"No one has ever called me uncle with as much sarcasm as you have, Oswald."

Zeleska's face twitched, he felt his temper flare. Keeping it in check he replied, "I am, as always, your humble servant."

Oruc Veen, or the man who had been him, took a seat and surveyed his nephew. "Yes…"

"I wasn't aware you rose this early in the Strategic Collective."

"Whether or not such an organisation exists is none of your business, Oswald," Veen said sharply. "Your master and I have had a great many discussions concerning your recent conduct. He would like it to be known you are under investigation and are currently of great interest to the Administratum."

"I…" Zeleska for once was lost for words.

"The ice on which you walk grows thin, I advise you take caution from now on."

"There is…"

"Toe the line."

"Yes, there is something you might do for me," Zeleska shifted uncomfortably, not used to being talked down to.

"Tell me exactly what you want and I will carefully explain why it cannot be."

 _The fool thinks I am an idiot!_ Zeleska's face darkened. Forcing himself to remain calm he said, "What do you know of xenology?"

"Having trouble telling them apart, Oswald? Need I send you a print of the Idiot's guide to Xenos? Or are you unsure which has the right hole to shove your cock up?"

Zeleska smiled, keeping his boiling rage bottled up. "A well-connected gentleman such as yourself might tell an inquisitor of any half-castes he has come across on his journeys."

Not in the least bit perturbed, Veen replied casually, "Macragge, the Chief Librarian there who is also a personal friend of mine has the dubious honour of a mixed-heritage. Why don't you ask him?"

"There was a woman, an Eldar, on Nemtess…"

"Are you sure that was not the amasec doing that, Oswald, knowing your penchant for, ah, drink."

"There were two, one a youth Interrogator Raza was bringing to me; the other was older. She murdered Saloth Raza and his bodyguards in cold blood."

"Too bad for them, I doubt the imperium will miss another inquisitorial lackey and a few scion thugs. There is a war in the Nemesis Sector, did you know that?"

"I know you are the centre of an intelligence hive! I seek your counsel on the matter; a half-breed could be of great use to us!"

"Us or you? I am fully aware of the enjoyment you get out of your profession and think it absolutely disgraceful but do not for one second believe you are anything special. You are just another sacra stain on the carpet, you and all the bureaucrats, the politicians and the executioners who purge, backstab and betray," Veen growled. His voice had changed to something altogether unsettling, it made the hair on Zeleska's neck stand on end.

"I can break you," Zeleska said quietly.

"A challenge then, which one of us will break first. The Emperor protects."

Before Zeleska could reply the link was terminated.

" _Damn his eyes,_ " he hissed, clenching his fists " _Damn his eyes."_

Returning to bed, Zeleska felt for Kora's body and pressed up against her.

"Kora, do you love me?" he asked, his arm snaking around her waist.

"Yes," she whispered.

Zeleska smiled. He was in control.

* * *

 _Cypra Mundi orbit, Segmentum Fortress_

Izuru was on Nemtess, she was also in danger.

 _Why Nemtess?_ Oruc Veen fretted. Attracting the attention of the inquisition was foolish and that damnable nephew of his now had his sights on her.

Opening his encrypted comm channel, Veen spoke to his shuttle pilot, "Draic, prep the Mainstay for launch."

"Yes, sir," the pilot acknowledged knowing better than to ask why. It was not his place to do so.

There was work to be done.

* * *

 _Fort Sturnn, Nemtess_

Bombers were over Karamaya, their silhouettes picked up every so often by the few intact searchlights' white beams.

"They're bombing Karamaya," Izuru said hearing a pair of feet climbing the steps to the upper ramparts. Swathed in her tattered cloak she stood watching the burning city in the far distance.

"If they can't beat us on the ground they'll beat us from up in the air," General Vorbeck appeared beside her. "The perimeter is holding fast though there have been confirmed sightings of militia and Marines in the city," he tutted, leaning on the stone parapet. "It was only a matter of time before they broke in. There can be no victory now, only retreat."

"Live to fight another day, general, there is no shame in running."

"Outgunned, outfought, outmanoeuvred; what a disaster!"

"What you see is not even a full-strength Chaos army, general. It is but a tiny fraction of the horde, Nemtess to them is an unimportant secondary front and a low priority."

"And still they have the courage to drown us in bodies every time they attack. What they lack in tactics and subtlety they more than make up for in enthusiasm to impale themselves on our bayonets and be cut down by our bullets in the dozen."

"The allure of Chaos twists their minds."

"Yes," Vorbeck agreed wholeheartedly. "Your charge?"

"Unconscious."

"Shameful, utterly contemptible how the Interrogator's men treated her though I dare so it was a pity that the lift they were in malfunctioned. Officially a snapped cable sent them plummeting to their deaths."

 _Vorbeck's cleanup crew has been thorough_ , Izuru remarked.

"Indeed a pity. Their loss will be remembered," Vorbeck said. "If there is anything we can do for the girl…"

"My thanks, general, but she will be treated by healers when she returns to the fleet."

"Of course, besides our medical staff are overworked as it is. I would ask you attend a briefing in my command centre, we shall be going over the details of the evacuation."

"Thank you, general, I am grateful for your invitation."

Izuru followed Vorbeck down from the wall and across the fort's interior. There seemed to be many more than two thousand troops as everywhere was jam-packed. Billets were crowded, aid stations overflowed with sick, wounded and dying men; row upon row of bodies were laid out underneath sheets. The tiny scrap of land set aside for burials had no more room to bury anything so the bodies were just left there.

"Can we get some more anaesthetic here please?" a surgeon major called from inside an open theatre where he was operating on a casualty.

"Sorry, sir, we just used the last of it," someone replied.

"Medical supplies are the main problem," Vorbeck said in an undertone as they passed by. "If any can be spared…"

"We will do our best, general, but no promises," Izuru replied. "Transport is guaranteed, supplies are not."

"Any more room back there?" a team carrying a stretcher paused by the open door.

"No, no more room, you'll have to go somewhere else," an orderly waved them away. "We're closing the theatre."

The sight of so many wounded men, bandaged, bleeding, many with flies buzzing about open wounds sickened Izuru.

"Water…" a boy reached out and grasped her hand.

"Water will be brought to you, you have my word," Vorbeck ushered Izuru away. "Nothing can be done for them. Most will be dead when the Perfs get here."

Izuru opened her mouth to question Vorbeck but caught herself. It was not her place to do so.

"Good evening, gentlemen, thank you for coming," Vorbeck addressed the cadre of senior officers back inside the command centre. Smoke from cigars clouded the air, a rich, pungent smell Izuru was not accustomed to.

"Before we start let me introduce Izuru Numerial, she will be acting as liaison between us and the Eldar command."

There was a general murmur of uncertainty mixed with hostility and some shaking heads.

"Most unusual if I may say, general," Colonel Creel put, fixing Izuru with an icy glare.

"The circumstances must be dire if we are readily accepting aid from xenos scum," Commissar Firth, the divisional political officer, said.

"If we are to withdraw as many men as possible from the planet then we must accept the aid of the Eldar, commissar," Vorbeck said firmly. "They are more than willing to provide transportation for our forces."

"And then what?"

"Then we fall back to Cadia in good order, regroup and prepare for the Chaos offensive. Now for the matter at hand," Vorbeck poured over a three-dimensional map of Karamaya and the fort. "Gentlemen, we have over two thousand men here with us at Sturnn, rough estimate three hundred thousand scattered across Karamaya and five thousand holding the perimeter at this time. Now with the Eldar's assistance I propose we begin evacuating the fort's personnel via the landing fields to the west of Sturnn, the militia have not yet overrun them I take it?"

"No, sir, there has been no enemy activity to the south or west of the fort, their interest lies in the city," Colonel Zandyke said.

"Good, Colonel Zandyke, you have command of the landing zone, we'll call it Landing Zone Wex."

To Izuru, Vorbeck asked, "how many transports can we expect and what is their capacity?"

"I can order as many ships as possible; their only concern will be the size and terrain of the landing ground. Each transport can carry four hundred men at maximum."

"Very well, colonel, take a detachment and form a perimeter around the LZ, do not let a single Perf through."

"Sir," Zandyke nodded and left.

"Of course evacuating the fort's personnel will seem like a jaunt compared to the issue of those in the city…" Vorbeck rubbed his chin, deep in thought.

"Surely the ice will serve as a suitable place for the ships to land," Colonel Creel said. "Somewhere out to sea?"

"Thank you for the suggestion, colonel, but at this point we have no telling just how thick the ice is. I am told by the meteorological officer that it is treacherous in places. Besides we must take into consideration the weight of the transports coupled with the wash from their engines and the danger of air attack. No, there is no question about it the transports must put down on solid ground; we must not have a repeat of the Tyrrhenia."

"If I may, general," Izuru stepped forwards. "Perhaps a landing zone in the city centre might be established?"

"Everything in the city is in range of the enemy's heavy guns, everything _but_ the beach. If ships are landed in the centre the artillery will tear them apart."

"Then why not have your ships land on the beach, xeno?" Colonel Creel suggested. "Uh, forgive me for speaking out of turn, general…"

"No, certainly not, it's a very good idea," Vorbeck nodded enthusiastically.

"I'm sure the Chaos air would warm to that," Commissar Firth added dryly.

"And what ideas can you bring to the table, commissar?"

"I have been in the city, seen the beaches, what I have also seen are two long fingers of stone, moles," Firth pointed at the two thin, arrow-straight structures just shy of two kilometres long jutting out from beach. "We could use the moles to ferry our troops onto the transports which can dock alongside the piers without having to land, at least I assume they can remain there under their own power."

"Can it be done, ambassador?" Vorbeck turned to Izuru.

"It is optimistic… but as your kind would say, it is worth a shot."

"Excellent, right I want a captain to head down to to join Commander Kersh and supervise the evacuation. Commissar Firth, you will accompany him and maintain order."

"Sir," Firth snapped his heels.

"One moment, general," Admiral Paderwicz quickly convened with his attaché. "Captain Auctoro has volunteered to go to Karamaya."

"Thank you, admiral, captain, good luck." Vorbeck shook Auctoro's hand.

"I'll do my best, general," Auctoro replied stiffly.

When Auctoro and Firth had left, Vorbeck called a comms officer over, "Leith, inform all callsigns in Karamaya that the Eldar are sending ships down from orbit, stress that it is imperative they hold their fire on anything in the sky not shooting at them, we don't want any incidents."

"Sir!"

"Excuse me, sir?" a medical officer approached Vorbeck.

"Very busy now, major, can it wait?" the general wiped his sweaty crown.

"Sir, Major Lucas Crowne, 4th Casualty Clearing Station. I would like to know what the position is regarding the wounded. There are thirty cases waiting right outside and more than two hundred at the aid station which is overflowing."

"Right now the wounded are not our priority, major, they take twice as long to load and twice as much space as a fit soldier."

"Sir, I have run out of medical supplies and as a result men are dropping like flies, they need proper hospitalisation urgently."

"You will have to wait until all of the fighting men and walking wounded have been successfully evacuated only then will we consider the litter cases, major."

"I understand the logic in evacuating able-bodied men before wounded but they're our men—"

"Thank you, major, that will be all," Vorbeck brushed past him and returned to the O-group.

"Sir," looking crestfallen, Major Crowne left the command centre.

Izuru's heart sunk, feeling desperately sorry for the young officer, but she already knew how it would play out. As cold as it was prioritising fit men over wounded it was the right thing to be doing.

"Where we were… ah, ambassador, when can we expect the first ships to set down?"

"Were I provided with a link to the fleet I could have transports on the ground within forty minutes."

"Would a vox set do? The frequency might need to be fiddled with a bit but that shouldn't cause too much trouble."

"A vox would suffice."

"Good, I'll let you sort that out. Colonel Creel?"

"Sir?" Creel leant forwards.

"The road…"

"The Perfs have been driven out of rifle range by 4 and 5 Kallistan Rifles and 9/18 Recce but can still reach the road with mortars."

"So it's open at least and that's how it's going to stay," Vorbeck said. "I want as many fit men as possible on that road to the fort."

"Walking wounded as well, sir?"

"Walking wounded. Any civilians will be turned away, no litter cases at all, they are to be left either in Karamaya or in the fort with a medical officer."

"Shall I give the order to pull the Rifles and tracks back to form a defence along the road, sir?" Creel asked.

"The Rifles and tracks will continue to launch raids and be as aggressive as they possible, they are not to let the Perfs catch their breath; understood?"

"Understood, sir."

"We'll call this Operation Orbis. Major Lomas, get that down would you."

"Yes, general."

"Operation commencing at 2145 hours," Vorbeck checked his chrono, waiting for the numerals to flick around. "Now, dismissed, gentlemen."

 _This all rests on a promise_ , Vorbeck thought, wondering whether the Stickie wold keep her word or renege on it.

Batting away two signallers who insisted they help her, Izuru adjusted the whirring vox set and fixed a headset over her ears. A phrase came to mind then, one she remembered was reserved for dire emergencies.

Taking a breath, she whispered, " _may the blessings of Asuryan protect the children of Asuryan from abomination…_ "

* * *

 _Karamaya_

Fire raged in the street, buildings tumbled to the ground, victims of the latest bombing raid.

Major Remus Kett, 1 Neria's second in command, paced fretfully about the battalion CP. Colonel Gausser had not been seen since he had organised the counterattack in B and D Company's sector, the few stragglers that had made it back to the command post to report had described seeing the colonel bearing the battalion colours aloft himself whilst simultaneously fighting back the Perfs. Now it appeared both had been lost to the enemy.

Major Kett was left in command of the battalion, or what was left of it. He knew for certain B and D Company still held after turfing out the Perfs from their positions, A Company further north had not come under direct attack receiving only a smattering of mortar and sniper fire. C Company's defences had borne the brunt of an assault at the same time as B and D had; their situation was not certain as the reports Kett had received were conflicting.

One report had the Perfs overrunning them only to be driven back by a hastily-formed counterattack with a provisional force made up of cooks, mechanics and other support personnel. Another stated the arrival of a tank and the aid of naval gunfire had saved Cain from annihilation. A ridiculous tale had a single man staying behind to direct artillery fire whilst standing on top of a burning tank and firing its heavy stubber at the Perfs. Kett did not know what to believe.

"Sir, Fort Sturnn for you," one of the handful of signallers left in the CP with Kett passed him a vox receiver.

"Hello, Zero, Sunray Minor speaking, over," Kett said.

"Hello, Sunray Minor, this is Zero. Pass to your Sunray, over."

"Zero, uhh, S-sunray is currently MIA he was last seen leading a counterattack in Hawk and Wild's sectors, over."

"What is your status, over?"

"All sectors holding currently, present strength unknown, have taken heavy casualties, request permission to withdraw while we still can."

"Denied, Sunray Minor, we need you to hold on for at least another twelve hours."

"Hello, Zero, is relief coming, are we being evacuated?" Kett asked anxiously.

"We will inform you of any major developments, Sunray Minor, for now hold your position and await further orders, out."

"S-sir…?" Kett heard the click in his ear. Handing the receiver back he turned to look at the dirty, worn-out men around him.

"We hold until we receive further orders," Kett said gloomily.

"Major Kett?" a battle-weary officer, B Company's commander, Captain Tombs ran inside the CP. His face was blackened, his uniform ripped and scorched by fire, underneath the grime two reddened, haunted eyes stared.

"Captain Tombs, B Company?" Kett rounded on the shaken officer. "How do they fare?"

"Major, request permission to withdraw my company before it's too late, we've taken a severe beating; many of my lads are cracking."

"No orders have been given to withdraw, captain. We are to hold our ground."

"Well I have overriding orders from a colonel in the Cullen Fusiliers to withdraw, major."

"Oh really?" Kett beckoned to Captain Tombs and led him outside into the street. "You see that white doorframe down the street there? If you or any of your men come past that doorframe we will shoot you."

"Oh don't be so bloody stupid," Tombs snapped.

"Withdrawal is not an option, captain."

"Damn you," Tombs took off running back down the street.

"Lieutenant Rutan, rifle!" Kett called to the signals' officer in the CP.

"Sir?" Lieutenant Rutan trotted out carrying an LAR.

"When that man reaches the white doorframe you are to shoot to kill," Kett took the LAR and chambered it.

"Sir," Rutan reached inside for a spare rifle and took aim beside Kett.

As Captain Tombs reached the doorframe, Kett said, "fire."

Two cracks echoed up and down the street. The officer fell to the ground and lay still.

"Shot," Kett lowered his rifle, "return to your post, lieutenant."

"Sir," Rutan followed Kett back indoors.

 _I had to do it there was no choice, even in retreat we are still an army and discipline must be enforced. Without basic obedience we are nothing but a gang of uniformed savages with guns. And at times like these sacrifices must be made. I did my duty and maintained discipline, had I not the line would have collapsed it is as simple as that. Each man must know his position even if it is to die so that many more might live, that is the fortune of war._

* * *

Larn slept soundly, he of all people deserved a rest. Martti however could not. Sitting with his back to a concrete wall with no pillow or blanket for comfort, Martti dozed fitfully listening to the bombs outside and the snores and grumbles of the men around him. His backside ached terribly as did the rest of his body, shoulders sore from carrying his pack, feet numb and blistered.

Leaning over, Martti touched the back of his hand to Larn's forehead.

 _Poor lad's burning up, fever's got him._

The cold had to have been doing it besides he was only a little 'un, all skin and bones, no fat to speak of on him.

" _Hold on, mate_ ," Martti whispered clasping his friend's shoulder. " _Hold on_."

The urge to relieve himself was strong but he did not want to leave Larn in the dingy basement in case he awoke alone.

" _Shant be long_ ," he whispered to Larn. " _Don't be going anywhere now_."

Outside the air was rife with smoke from the bombing, stinging Martti's eyes. Infernos rose as high as the buildings they had taken over. A few bodies, some civilian, some soldier had fallen victim to the bombs. Searchlights no longer roved the sky, the bombers having made their runs for the night. It was a hellish scene like something out of a nightmare.

Fumbling with his trouser zip he caught sight of a gang of men caught up in a scuffle inside a bombed-out building. For a second he took no notice, none of his business as it was, then he realised the scuffle was more of a gang-up with four men from a different regiment roughing up a navy pilot in a green flight suit.

"That's not right," Martti said to himself, unslinging his rifle and pointing it skywards. The sound of the shot sent the thugs running leaving the pilot in a heap at the foot of a pile of beams.

"You alright?" Martti asked flinging away jagged splinters and bricks the pilot lay amongst.

"Oh, oh…" he groaned in a daze

"Didn't rough you up too bad did they?"

"Oh, not too badly," the pilot shook himself free of the wreckage. "Don't think the Navy's too popular in this neck of the woods right now."

"Nah seems not," Martti said, brushing him down.

"They seemed to be under the impression we ran out on the Guard. Well I'll say this we pulled back because we had no choice not because we were yellow or anything. Trust me we fought a hard air campaign against the Perfs before you even got a contact in your trenches."

"Yeah, yeah, course you did, sure."

"What, you don't believe me?"

"Well it's just we've seen next to nothing of our air."

"All our major engagements were fought away from the frontline that's why you didn't see any of us," the pilot sighed explosively. "Those fine fellas had the intention of blowing a hole in the ice and throwing me in the bloody sea, lucky you came along when you did."

"Yeah, Martti Sinric," Martti stuck out a hand.

"Leoben Clennel Wind, Lieutenant, Imperial Navy."

"Oh sorry, sir, didn't know you was an officer."

"No problem," the pilot laughed. "Call me Leo," he shook, alarmingly his flight gloves came away bloody. "You cut yourself?"

"Bollocks," Martti tutted, he did not realise the sharp corners of wood had gouged lines in his palms.

"Could do with one of these," Lieutenant Wind dug a tightly-rolled bandage from a pocket in his flight suit.

"Thanks, sir."

"I'm not really a sir, this thing was only something I did for a lark, reserves, least I thought it would be a lark. I had no idea I'd be doing any actual fighting."

"…Yeah," Martti nodded and bound the cuts on his hands.

"Are you alone too?"

"Got a mate – two of 'em actually, lost one a while back, dunno where he is. I'm down in a factory basement with my pal, Larn."

"Yes I've been looking for a place to hide." Leo shielded his eyes from a nearby plume of flame that had sprung up in a window. "Somewhere out of this bad weather, did you know it rains bombs here?"

"Uh, no…" Martti laughed shakily.

"Heh," he snorted, thumping Martti on the arm. Leo's cheerful attitude was threatening to get under Martti's skin, already wound up with worry for Larn's deteriorating health as he was.

Back inside the factory the silence was disturbed by a voice shouting incoherently, provoking angry reactions from several men who had been rudely awoken.

"Who's that?" Leo wondered aloud above the harsh curses directed at the shouter.

"Oh no…" Martti could hear the noises coming from the basement. "Come on, downwards."

Larn was shouting in his sleep.

" _Ssh, ssh,_ " Martti soothed. "S'alright, James."

"Here," Leo produced a small torch and shone it above the narrow space Larn lay in. "Oh Throne," he breathed, seeing the greyness of the boy's face.

"What?"

"Nothing," Leo backed away.

"Oi shine the light!"

"What is it?" Larn murmured. "Why's it so bright?"

Martti waved at Leo to remove the torchbeam. "You were shouting your head off."

"What?" Larn said, incredulous.

"Some of the lads are getting a bit peeved."

"Sorry, I've just got such a bad headache."

"Any water?" Martti asked Leo who shook his head.

"Alright, eat some of this," Martti broke off a chunk of bread from the remains of the loaf he carried. "Now eat it quiet now, or they'll all be wanting some."

Larn took the bread and began to chew slowly.

"About your friend…" Leo said aside to Martti.

"James Larn, he's a hero," Martti smiled fondly.

"What did he do?"

"Single-handedly fought off hundreds of Perfs and some tanks with artillery and a fifty cal for over an hour, saved our company so he did," he said earnestly.

"He won't make tomorrow," Leo said bluntly.

"He looks a bit rough I know but he'll pull through he always does."

"He has a fever. There's something else wrong with him too but I don't know what."

"How can you tell?"

"Are you a qualified first aider?"

"I can put a plaster on…"

"No, there's nothing you can do for him, I'm very sorry. Without proper medical attention he'll…"

Martti's face fell. "No, no," he muttered, teetering on the edge of despair. Losing Larn would kill him inside; he owed everything to the tough little corporal.

"Hey," Martti lit a match and held it up to Larn's face. "Guess what, I've got a bloke from the Navy right here says we're getting picked up at first light. You heard me, the Navy's gonna come back tomorrow, we're going home!"

"Ha," Larn blinked, his eyelids growing heavy.

"Just need you to keep quiet and no more of your shouting."

"Alright," he smiled. "Wake me up at first light."

"Of course, mate."

"You won't hear another word out of me."

* * *

 _Fort Sturnn, LZ Wex_

The first transport roared out of the clouds with landing lights blazing before setting down on its skids inside the perimeter of the landing zone.

It was 22:29.

The moment the ramp touched the ground and the hatch unsealed the litter bearing Keladi was ferried aboard, Izuru was by her side. She watched as the girl was laid gently on the casket attached to the bulkhead and fastened down.

"Thank you," she dismissed the two humans that had borne her and finished seating Keladi.

"May Jain Zar watch over you, little one, as he does all banshees," Izuru murmured. She fitted a clear, jelly-like substance to Keladi's face and waited for it to mould into shape. It would provide her with clear oxygen for the journey.

"Rest now daughter of Ulthwé for you will be home soon," Izuru smiled. "I'm very proud of you."

Hurrying fore, Izuru knocked on the bulkhead before entering the portal to the cockpit, "permission to enter?"

"Granted," the pilot, one of two, said. "Are you Izuru Numerial?"

"I am yes."

"Our instructions were not clear, are we to ferry humans warriors aboard the Arabulucu or just your entourage?"

"For now your task is to take on as many humans as you can hold and deliver them to the fleet. Has a vacant transport been set aside for them?"

"Unknown, my lady, we were told next to nothing."

"I would like you to contact the fleet and request they set aside a vacant vessel if one is available."

"Yes, at once."

"And advise them to send in the next wave of transports with doused landing lights, is that understood?"

"Understood."

"My thanks," Izuru made the sign of Ulthwé and departed the cockpit, heading aft to the open hatch. Pausing to check on Keladi she swung down onto the ground and beckoned to a crowd of humans that had lined up two abreast and were waiting, unsure of whether to they could board.

"Move as far forwards as you can please, all the way to the bows," she urged. It did not have the desired effect on them as she had hoped.

"Get aboard the ship, lads," a loud voice corralled. "Lively now!"

A soldier with three stripes on his arm, a sergeant, had heard Izuru and was ushering the men forwards. Of course they would rather die than take orders from a stickie and it was only natural for them to ignore her and instead look to their officers and NCOs for guidance.

Over the next half hour five more transports set down. Izuru noted with satisfaction that all five had flown in blind, trusting the arrangement of hastily-positioned glow-sticks to guide them to the LZ.

By now word had spread that it was not the Navy that was sending ships but xenos, predictably this began to sow discontent in the ranks of waiting men and women who were under the impression they were being taken prisoner.

In the centre of everything, Colonel Zandyke, a naval representative and a signaller were surrounded by a gaggle of junior officers who were angry at this apparent betrayal.

"I will not lead my men willingly into captivity!"

"After all this we're walking into the bag?"

"Why are we just giving up?"

"All of you calm down and start acting like officers!" Colonel Zandyke glared. "For a start this is not a surrender we are not capitulating to the stickies, they are here to help us."

"What's to say they won't blast us out of the sky once we're airborne?"

"Or flush us out into space?"

Pressed in by the disgruntled officers Zandyke began to bluster, seeing this Izuru stepped in to intervene.

"Ours is a mission of mercy we wish to help not to harm," she said with as much sincerity as was possible.

The presence of a stickie made some of the officers step away in alarm a few of whom had their hands on holstered sidearms.

"You are not prisoners I give my word. When our fleet reaches Cadia you will be repatriated to your people."

"Never trust a stickie," one of the officers said coldly.

"Lying xeno," another added.

"Listen to me it is fruitless trying to fight a three-way war between humanity and Chaos, we—"

Colonel Zandyke interrupted, "since the xenos have not requested we disarm ourselves beforehand I will take it as a sign of their goodwill. Now, gentlemen, as officers of the Imperial Guard you are required to make the decisions for your men, so what will it be: stay and be subject to the mercy of the militia or escape with your men and live to fight another day?"

"I cannot, to even think it is heresy."

"I'm not going to throw my lot in with the stickies."

More than half gathered around the colonel were choosing to stay. Izuru was stunned that so many refused the aid of her people even when they approached with open arms.

 _Do they really hate us that much?_ She wondered before chiding herself for her naivety. It was something Keladi would have thought, bless her.

To counter the portion that was staying there were many who were perfectly willing if unhappy to be rescued by Eldar citing that even the stickies were a better prospect than falling under the shadow of Chaos; a lesser of two evils someone put.

For the time being the perimeter around LZ Wex was quiet. Around the coast on the distant horizon fresh fires had arisen in the wake of the recent bombing casting Karamaya in an orange glow. Nearer still tracers flashed back and forth between the Kallistan Rifles and Chaos militia, the former fighting hard to keep the road open for the thousands of soldiers that had been ordered to make their way along the coast in the dark to the fort.

Then at 23:09, forty minutes after the first ship had landed the Perfs hit the LZ. Announcing themselves with a preliminary mortar barrage they charged out of the darkness into the alert gunners of the Daxian mechanised cavalry brigade.

Their vehicles shot out from under them the cavalrymen proved to be no less fierce when forced into an infantry role. Having dismounted their tracks' 19 mm heavy bolters and .30 calibre stubbers, the Daxians chopped the first attack to pieces.

Viewing the assault from afar, Izuru waited with Colonel Zandyke's headquarters underneath the dim red lights of a transport. So far the evacuation was going smoothly and it would not be long before all of the fort's personnel, those able to walk at least, were away.

"Izuru Numerial? I seek Izuru Numerial," an aspect warrior in bright white armour holding a green helmet under his arm appeared at her shoulder.

"Yes?" Izuru beckoned to the warrior and stepped out of earshot of the humans.

"May we speak in our mother tongue?"

"Of course, what tidings do you bring from Ulthwé?" Izuru took him by the arm and they walked a short distance away.

"The war council send their compliments they also request you to return to the Arabulucu immediately they wish to debrief you," the warrior said.

"Who do speak for, warrior, I do not recognise your livery."

"Representatives of the Craftworld Biel-tan are present; they are whom I speak for."

"Then you have no authority over me, warrior. I answer to Farseer Eldrad Ulthran alone."

"The Chief Farseer of Ulthwé left through a Webway portal some time ago, he has not been seen since," he said matter-of-factly, a flash from an explosion illuminating one side of his slim face.

"Then who is leading the strike force to Cadia?" Izuru asked puzzled as to why Eldrad had left so abruptly without giving a reason.

"That is currently a matter of debate, one that the council wishes to resolve with you present."

"Well tell them I cannot return to the Arabulucu at this point—"

The snap of passing rounds surrounded the two sending them scooting for cover behind the nearest transports' landing claw.

"Tell them I cannot return to the Arabulucu, I have unfinished business here," Izuru continued. "And I suggest you return to your masters and send them my compliments as well as my response!"

Leaving the aspect warrior at a loss for words, Izuru took off for the perimeter.

* * *

 _Fort Sturnn_

"Sir, Segmentum Command says it's absolutely urgent you evacuate your staff and make for Cadia with all haste," Major Lomas handed the newly-received message to General Vorbeck.

"Does Command truly believe I will abandon my men?" Vorbeck read the printout before screwing it up and handing it back to Major Lomas.

"I will take full responsibility for my actions and face the consequences when we reach Cadia but for now I shall remain here and oversee the evacuation, only when the last of the forts' defenders and those in Karamaya are safely away will I leave the battlefield; see that the reply reaches SEGCOM, major."

"Yes, sir."

Wearily, General Vorbeck spoke to the admiral, "how is the evacuation from the moles proceeding?"

"So far no major hitches. There is some disorderliness here and there but Commander Kersh assures me that for the most part everything is flowing."

"How many are away?"

"Getting onto two thousand, five shuttles' worth."

"Time?"

"23:12."

"Captain Auctoro?"

"Still in transit, general."

"Well that's to be expected what with the exodus from the city."

"The Perfs are none to wiser to our intentions it seems or they would not be probing the LZ."

"Yes, sir, might they have mistaken the embarkation as reinforcements arriving?" Colonel Creel asked.

"It's a possibility," Vorbeck scratched his chin, feeling the stubble grate under his fingernails. He was several days overdue a shave and a wash not to mention suffering from exhaustion.

The main worry now was the Perfs' response when they perceived the evacuation taking place right underneath their noses.

"Come the dawn…" Vorbeck muttered.

 _They will go all out to ensure our complete destruction._

* * *

 _Karamaya_

Lieutenant Commander Julius Kersh, standing on the north mole, heard a scuffle unfolding. Pushing his way along the mole, thick with men, he found two Atreides cavalrymen brawling with a pair of Cullen Fusiliers.

"Break it up!" Kersh shouted, forcing the two pairs apart. "Break it up!"

The slow progress of the embarkation was wearing out the patience of the men many of whom had been on their feet for hours waiting for ships to arrive. Now that they were here it turned out they were not imperial navy but strange fish-shaped vessels belonging to the bloody stickies.

"Break it up!" Kersh shouted. "Queue in an orderly manner or you will be allowed no water or food at all."

Grumbling the cavalrymen and fusiliers rejoined their lines, flinging barbed insults at one another all the while. Kersh had been on the verge of drawing his laspistol to quell the unrest.

 _Damn this place_ , he cursed, fighting back through the crowd towards the landward end. The presence of xenos had soured his temper even further.

"Keep moving down to the end of the mole and board the ships—do not hesitate, keep moving!" Kersh barked.

Taking his chrono from the breast pocket of his navy suit Kersh read the luminous numerals; a couple of minutes past midnight. There was still a good eight hours before dawn.

 _When it gets light the Perfs will bomb the moles to buggery_ , Kersh thought grimly, imagining the slaughter that would take place on the concrete and stone breakwaters.

"Commander!"

Kersh turned on hearing a familiar voice and saw the smoke-blackened face of Captain Auctoro.

"Sir," Kersh's face split into a grin.

"Evening, Julius, we were told you needed a hand with things down here," Auctoro shook Kersh's hand warmly.

"You couldn't have come at a better time, captain, are you taking command here?"

"I am, Julius, Commissar Firth is here as well to enforce discipline," Auctoro indicated a gaunt-faced political officer tightly wrapped in his black leather overcoat.

"Thank you for your assistance, commissar," Kersh stuck out his hand.

Firth gripped it and gave the merest hint of a nod, "commander."

"Well it appears you have everything in order here, Julius. I'll leave you with Commissar Firth for the time being. Is there anyone in charge of the south mole?"

"No one currently, sir," Kersh said.

"Right, I'll make my way over there then. Offer the commissar a cup of tea will you?"

Captain Auctoro took his leave in a somewhat hurried manner.

"Commissar, if you wouldn't mind?" Kersh led Firth into a dugout lined by hardbags and covered in netting.

"Tea? Sorry there's no milk."

"Alright, commander I'll play your game," Firth straightened his peaked cap and sat down on a chair.

"I'm sorry, game, commissar?" Kersh said, confused.

"You and all officers play the game, commander. How long can you tolerate being in the presence of a damned commissar before you either pawn him off to someone else or arrange for him to meet with an accident."

"I wouldn't go as far to call that a game, commissar," Kersh replied, stirring two mugs of tea he had prepared. "There are some among us, officer and rating, who find the presence of the political officer distasteful and morale-sapping."

"And are you one of those officers, commander?" Firth said a dangerous look in his eye.

"Commissar…" Kersh passed the chipped mug over. "Right now the presence of a political officer might've been delivered to me straight from the Golden Throne; cheers."

Both men raised their mugs and sipped.

"Hm," Firth grimaced.

"Well…" Kersh said carefully.

"It seems the Guard still maintains their standards."

"Of what, commissar?"

"Supplying shit tea."

After a second's pause both officers, of the same mind, shared a chuckle.

* * *

 _Fort Sturnn, LZ Wex_

Many tense, freezing hours passed but Izuru never once felt the touch of cold, the heat of battle firing her up. When she was not liaising with the transport pilots she ventured to the perimeter and took up arms to assist the Daxians.

Crouched beside a bolter emplacement Izuru stared into the darkness awaiting the next attack. Every time the militia had charged the combined fire from the Daxian bolters, stubbers and riflemen lit up the night flooring them in the dozen, now the land beyond the LZ was scattered with hundreds of dead and wounded men.

Izuru's numb fingers gripped a borrowed LAR tightly, slowly sweeping the long rifle across the sector of ground she covered. At her feet was an infantry large pack holding nearly twenty full magazines.

Around her came the sound of ragged breathing, the soft clink of ammunition belts, and the rustle of clothing and belt kit. Possessing finer, more acute senses than the soldiers her ears detected the softest whisper, the tiniest murmur of conversation, and many nearby footfalls.

She saw the khaki and drab wave rolling in long before the Daxians did, to her eyes they seemed altogether not dissimilar to the men she was fighting alongside with only their uniforms being the giveaway. Under the brim of each cap or helmet was a normal if dirt-streaked face that was so unlike the standard Chaos rank and file, most of which bore nasty mutations from warp exposure.

Taking her time Izuru laid her sights on the closest militiaman and waited for him to near. At the very limit of her hearing she singled out her target and listened to his shaky breathing. He was trembling with fear and clearly terrified out of his mind.

Locating his heart, Izuru's finger gently squeezed the trigger.

The very instant the loud bang cut through the silence the line erupted, muzzle flash turned night into day, revealing the thick ranks of Perfs that had been picking their way through the bodies of their fallen comrades.

Whistles tooted shrilly, a bright pink flare was fired high into the sky where it hung above Izuru's head. She paid no notice, all her focus on the charging Perfs. To her right the bolter was pumping out burst after burst, chopping any that became caught in its lethal fusillade to pieces.

It seemed like they did not care how many of them were killed. Some of them, hit by bullets or shrapnel from grenades, were still stumbling towards her as if desperate to get into hand-to-hand. A few had their rifles slung and were charging bare-handed, lit up for a split-second by flashes their youthful faces betrayed stark terror not just at the imperials but at those driving them from behind. It made Izuru pause briefly then she began to deliberately target heads and hearts, putting the panic-stricken boys down with as little fuss as possible.

Pausing, Izuru dumped her spent magazine and delved into the pack for a new one. The flash of a bayonet sailing towards her from over the piles of bodies caught her mid-reload. A cold sharp finger of steel honed in on Izuru, slicing the side of her neck; caught in its path. Feeling her neck grow wet she dragged the weapons' barrel down and grappled with her unseen assailant.

In her peripheral vision her eyes registered a Daxian, his weapon gone, tear his helmet off and use it as a makeshift bludgeon, swinging it around and cracking the militiaman in his unprotected face. The moment the hard ceramite connected there was a solid _thunk_ as bone fractured and he fell away from Izuru dropping his lasgun in the process. Following on from the Daxian's timely intervention, Izuru punched the militiaman in the throat with rigid fingertips and, with one deft movement, snapped his neck and tossed the body away with one hand.

Her saviour handed a first aid packet to her, picked up his helmet and promptly disappeared. Blocking out the stinging pain on her neck, Izuru retrieved her rifle, chambered a round and returned to the fight.

The crux of their attack blunted, the militia now sought to disengage. Pursued back through the thick quantities of their dead, their flight was harried by the Daxian weapon teams' tracerfire, interlocking in a deadly pattern as it crossed the bloodied waste.

Izuru was content to let the Perfs pull back until she saw the retreating troops were bayoneting their own men. The sight filled her with abhorrence so much she continued to fire until her rifle locked empty.

Cries to cease fire were given up and down the line. Laying her rifle down, Izuru clamped her jaw shut and bound the dressing around the wound in her neck, cursing silently in her tongue. It was high time she checked on the embarkation.

Leaving the rifle and ammunition in reach of the Daxians, Izuru hastened down towards where Colonel Zandyke had set up his command post. Passing through one of the many queues that snaked back for hundreds of yards, Izuru glanced unintentionally at a bareheaded soldier.

"Larn?" Izuru muttered, as she did so the soldier was obscured when another stepped in front prompting her to shove him aside only to be met with a total stranger. Turning away despondently Izuru tramped over to Colonel Zandyke in a state of gloominess.

"There's not much more you can do here, xeno," he said, glancing at his chrono. "I think it might be best if you fly out before dawn; it is four hours away."

"Thank you, colonel I will take that into consideration but I have unfinished business in Karamaya."

"The evacuation in the city I'm told is very much underway. Your assistance has been greatly appreciated, xeno, but we can take it from here."

"Then perhaps a favour in return before my departure, colonel?" Izuru suggested to Zandyke.

"Just, one moment please…" Zandyke took his signallers' headset and listened before addressing Izuru. "Yes?"

"Transportation into the city."

"That's all?"

"That is what I require."

"Trust me it will be easier not to mention safer if you embark from here—"

"I have no intention of embarking before a certain point, colonel."

"Well if transportation is what you require then go ask General Vorbeck, take my bodyguard with you too – Sarn't Silvola!"

"Sir?" a barrel-chested non-com wearing a high-collared flak jacket and hefting an Accatran pump-action shotgun ran up.

"Sarn't, be so kind as to provide escort for the xeno."

"Sir," Sergeant Silvola, if he had any opinion on the Stickie before him, kept it to himself.

"Follow me, sergeant," Izuru said briskly.

"Beg pardon, stickie, but where are we off to?"

"Karamaya, try to keep up now."

* * *

"What do you mean go to Karamaya?" General Vorbeck scoffed. "You-you've done what you came here to do now kindly return to your own people, I have enough on my plate as it is."

"General, all I ask is that you provide me with transportation to the outskirts, in no way will that impeded the embarkation."

"Look, it's coming up to zero four thirty and it'll be light in three and a half hours. By then the evacuation will have to be put on hold—"

"Surely you are not worried about a few bombs, general?"

"Those 'few' bombs have killed hundreds of men, _my men!_ "

"The evacuation must continue during the day, our ships cannot wait around forever in orbit, the main fleet is already leaving the system for Cadia."

"Are the remaining ships capable of striking ground targets from orbit?"

"Military aid is not an option, not until a formal agreement has been signed."

Vorbeck sighed. "So it seems the Stickies are marred in just as much red tape as we are, splendid."

"This was never a formal alliance…"

"Oh take your bloody transport and get out! If I see you here again you'll be interned," Vorbeck snapped.

"Gratitude, general," Izuru bowed her head and left the empty command centre.

Sergeant Silvola leant against a pockmarked brick wall balancing the butt of his shotgun against his waist. The noise of battle both to his right, around the LZ, and to his left, the coast road made his ears pop. Also audible was the crying of the many wounded who were due to be left behind; poor bastards.

Released from the monotonous position of bodyguard Silvola felt himself awaken from the wearisome routine. Admiring his freshly-cleaned Accatran, Silvola relished the thought of finally being able to employ it against the enemy who were not all that far away.

"Sergeant?" the xeno's soft voice called.

"The Old Man come round?" Silvola asked, following in her footsteps towards the near-deserted motor pool.

"In a manner of speaking yes."

"Yes or no then?"

"His exact words: take your bloody transport and get out."

"Hmph, never 'eard such foul language from a lady before, even a xeno one," Silvola snorted. "Was the Old Man specific about which set o' wheels we could take?"

"Rather vague truth be told."

"Right let's take a gun truck," Silvola eyed a heavily-armed wolf four-wheel drive that had not yet been disabled.

"Why that particular type?"

"It's got twin-linked Volg stubbers, put out a thousand rounds a minute," Silvola replied, climbing into the driver's seat. "Chop up some Perfs with these beauts."

"Sergeant, what do you think you're doing?" a motor transport officer, stiff and formal, stamped across the ground towards them.

"Let me handle this," Izuru said quickly before Silvola could open his mouth.

"Do you have a permit to remove that vehicle?" the officer sneered, one hand on his holstered laspistol.

"Turn around and forget," Izuru walked slowly over, for an instant her eyes flashed yellow.

"Throne, my toilet paper!" he cried, whirling about and tearing out of sight.

" _Oh bloody hell_ ," Silvola paled on seeing the xeno's magic.

"Do I frighten you, sergeant?" Izuru asked innocently.

"Just wish I could unsee things that's all," Silvola said with a degree of uncertainty. "No normal bloke should have to see bloody witchcraft."

Starting the wolf up, Silvola stuck it into gear and drove slowly out of the compound, muttering all the while. Once again Izuru's witchcraft came in handy; she lulled the sentries manning the gate. Silvola's unease amusing her though deep down she was wracked with worry.

* * *

 _Karamaya_

Larn did not wake up the next morning. It was one hour till dawn.

"I'm sorry, Martti," Leo Wind said, laying a hand on Martti's shoulder. "He's gone."

"Give it a bit," Martti shook his head refusing to believe his sole remaining friend had passed away.

"Come on we have to get going, we'll miss the ride."

"You go I'll wait a bit longer."

"Look, I'm sorry but your friend's died, there's no point sticking around here."

"Just fucking go, Leo!" Martti hissed angrily. "Don't need me holding your hand."

"You've got the rifle!"

"Fine, take it," Martti thrust his LAR at Wind.

"I didn't mean…"

"You want it cause I don't."

"Bugger it, sorry," Leo leapt up the steps.

Martti heard his receding footsteps on the floor above.

When news of the evacuation at the moles had reached the troops crowding the factory most of them had left, now with dawn fast approaching the last few hung-over men had staggered in the direction of the seafront.

Down in the basement, Martti Sinric remained watching over his friend. Larn looked so peaceful lying there as if in a deep slumber, it did not seem possible that he was dead.

Feeling tears well up in his eyes Martti took the pictures of his home from Larn's cold hand then drew his rain cape over Larn's head, covering him up.

"Goodbye, pal, I won't forget you."

Taking one last look at him Martti ascended the steps and left the factory.

Outside the streets were deserted, in the half dark Martti wandered, his feet taking his tired, worn-out body in a non-specific direction. Finding himself on a well-worn road Martti let it take him out of the city centre through the blasted outskirts dotted with corpses, man and Marine alike, and away from Karamaya entirely. He had never felt so alone in his entire life.

* * *

Izuru, tired and dejected, slumped in the passenger seat of the wolf. It had taken hours to travel such a short distance through the crush of troops all travelling in the opposite direction of the wolf slowing progress to a painful crawl, enough that Izuru could walk faster on the road beside it. She was beginning to wish she had gone on foot instead.

To the right flashes blinked just over the horizon, ahead the city burned.

Again and again Izuru asked passing soldiers whether they knew a Larn, Cain Company, 1 Neria. Most ignored her, some replied with grunts or just plain insults, only one or two gave straight answers and they were always no.

"Any luck?" Sergeant Silvola asked, one hand resting on the steering wheel.

"Nothing."

By now the files on the road had thinned out and only a few late souls were left.

"Can you see better than us in the dark?"

"Sometimes," she replied.

"It's never yes or no with you xenos, is it?"

"Not always."

"So who are you looking for? I've seen you checking faces, thought maybe I could help."

"Larn, C Company, 1 Neria?"

"Nope, never 'eard of him, what's your beef with him?"

"Beef?"

"Why are you out for him?"

"He's a Grendel veteran and would be of use in the fight against Chaos."

Silvola stared at her, "not anything special?"

"He saved my life on Grendel."

"I see…"

"Do you know what a life debt is?"

"Bail out," Silvola said.

"Where—"

"BAIL OUT!"

Shoving her in the shoulder, Silvola threw himself out of the moving vehicle a beat before Izuru noticed tall shapes in the field to the right and felt incoming fire punching holes in the bodywork.

Landing roughly in a shallow ditch by the side of the road Izuru felt ice break underneath her body and freezing cold water running over her hands. The wolf, riddled through and through, was on fire and had continued to roll forwards, Silvola's warning had come in the nick of time. Scurrying across the road, his flight pursued by heavy automatic fire, Silvola jumped down beside Izuru and unslung his shotgun.

"Bloody Nathaniel's out there," he laughed, slipping cartridges from a bandolier into his shotgun's magazine.

"Nathaniel?" Izuru shouted, confused.

"Just a squad of Marines, nothing to worry about," Silvola worked the slide of the Accatran. "Here's what we're gonna do, I'll go right make as much noise as possible, you go left and find your pal; Karamaya's right over there just make sure you're on a ship before dawn!"

"Don't throw your life away like this, sergeant!"

"Come on this is the most fun I've ever had," Silvola raised himself up and fired at the Marines, gaining their attention and not much else. "Go on, go!"

Nerve-ends shrieking from the deafening bark of the shotgun, Izuru vaguely heard Silvola screaming insults at the Marines as well as the subsequent blasts from his weapon.

"Larn?" she called stumbling dizzily along the ditch, filthy water sloshing around her ankles, the intense heat from the burning vehicle which had come to rest nose down in the ditch on the other side of the road seared her skin.

"Larn?"

A few faces all unfamiliar to her hid below the road, none were Larn.

"Larn?!" Izuru snarled, nearing the end of her tether.

Simultaneously she and the weeping soldier saw each other. He lay pressed against the slope at the roadside and seemed to recognise the name.

"Where is he?" Izuru pounced, grabbing him by his collar. "Tell me!"

Yelping in fright as he was hauled to his feet, the soldier whimpered, "he's dead."

"Show me where he is," Izuru thrust him back towards the city.

"Oi, lemme go! What d'you want with me?"

"You can face the Marines or you can face me. Choose, human," Izuru dug her hand into a bunch of the boy's webbing and propelled him on. Behind them the wolf's fuel and ammunition cooked off in a violent shower of red and white sparks. Through the flames a dozen bulky figures, larger than normal men materialised like spectres.

"Please don't make me go back there," the tearful soldier pleaded upon Izuru pushing him again. Though a rifle was slung on his shoulder he did not try to use it.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

"M-my name's Martti, L-Larn's my mate," he sniffed, wiping his running nose on his torn sleeve.

"Where did you leave him?"

"Some factory basement, look just don't kill me please I've, I've been through hell this past week."

Reluctantly Martti led Izuru through the vicinity of the blasted suburbs every now and again shooting uneasy looks over his shoulder at the mysterious woman as if worried she would kill him.

"You a stickie, you are aren't you? Larn mentioned something about one."

 _Did he now?_ Izuru's raised her eyebrows.

"It's here, down in here," Martti gestured vaguely at the factory once it was in sight. "He's in the basement just don't make me go down there, please."

Leaving Martti beside the factory's great double doors, Izuru ventured inside. The spaces occupied by men were thick with rubbish and the place stunk of body odour. Thawed patches of ice rippled gently under Izuru's boots, water dripped from chains hanging down from the ceiling; in the clammy air Izuru's breath came out a white cloud.

Coming to a set of iron steps Izuru looked at the dingy, filth-strewn floor below then turning, lowered herself downwards. Feeling her head brush the low ceiling she stooped, her eyes roving about the gloomy space.

Izuru caught her breath when she saw a body covered by a raincape on a low shelf. Sinking slowly to her knees she reached out to pull the cape back, dread filling her heart. Clenching her outstretched hand she stopped herself, scared of what she would find. Gathering up her courage, Izuru tucked a finger under the fold and gently lifted the cape away.

Lying on his front with his face turned towards her Larn lay. Were it not for his deathly pale face tinged with grey Izuru might have mistakenly assumed he was asleep. Dread gave way to grief and a painful hole opening up in her stomach. Closing her eyes she composed herself and brushed his cold cheek with the back of her fingers.

 _The sun shone down on a sloping field thick with bright red flowers gently swaying in the breeze. Standing on the edge of the field just inside a grove of flowering coniferous trees, Izuru stood, her gaze on a band of soldiers walking through the flowers singing or chatting to one another, none paying her any attention as they went by. For a time she watched them heading up the hill towards the sunlight before each one disappeared over the crest._

 _A straggler walking by himself appeared. He was in his shirtsleeves, his jacket thrust into his pack, rifle on his shoulder and was wearing his helmet the brim of which was tilted down._

 _Recognising the short stature, Izuru left the trees and went into the field. She was about to call out when the soldier, twenty paces ahead, turned his head and looked back at her, no sign of recognition crossed his features, his mouth did not move nor did he make any sound; Izuru heard him nonetheless._

" _No," he said._

" _You are dying, human, you're spirit is fading."_

" _No," he repeated looking up at the hilltop. "I'm going home."_

" _I beseech you, stay awhile longer."_

" _My mates are waiting just over that hill, they're always waiting. I can't keep 'em any longer."_

" _I owe you a life debt, let me repay it."_

 _The soldier gave her a sad smile, "I can't."_

" _I can help you, without me you will be lost."_

" _I'm not gonna be a lost soldier, not anymore," he took a step further up the hill and turned away. "You won't see me again. When I get to the top of the hill I'll be gone."_

"Stickie?"

Izuru blinked, she was back in the factory and kneeling over Larn's body.

"Stickie, you down there?" Martti's voice was coming from the top of the ladder.

There was still time.

Casting aside the raincape, Izuru unclipped Larn's belt kit, divesting him of anything heavy that would impede her. Prising open the holster at his hip, Izuru took out an ancient automatic pistol with battered wood grips and slipped it into her belt, anything was better than nothing.

"Here, what you doing?" Martti crouched on the stairs above her trying to see what she was doing.

"He's alive," Izuru said tersely.

"What?" Martti gasped. "But I thought… I checked…"

"But not for much longer, his lifeforce grows weak."

Carrying Larn on her shoulder with no more difficulty than if he were an infant, Izuru climbed up to Martti.

"Oh mate, please forgive me, I'm sorry I left you, I didn't know…" Martti clasped Larn's hand and burst into tears.

"I am going to run now. If you fall behind I will leave you but first tell me where the embarkation is taking place."

"Uhh…" Martti scratched his head, racking his brains, "the – the beach, the moles!"

"Take me there, we must move quickly if I am to get your friend to my people in time."

"Alright this way, I think…"

* * *

The rising sun heralded the return of the Perf aircraft. For hours the Cullens, the Atreides and men from other regiments had embarked with little hassle; that was all about to change.

Lieutenant Commander Kersh heard the howl of jet engines and ducked instinctively along with every other soldier crowding the north mole when a flight of slamjets streaked overhead. Though ancient the stubby-nosed fighters packed two pairs of 20 mm cannon in their chins and were slow enough to be used for low-level strikes. To his relief Kersh did not see bomb racks fitted to their grey underbellies.

The few AA batteries with ammunition left opened up filling the sky with little black clouds, not a single fighter went down, all three hitting the throttle and shooting away to the south.

"They haven't seen the transports," Kersh guessed.

"Or they could be radioing for fighter-bombers," Commissar Firth scowled.

A second trio, more attentive than the first and fitted with bomb-racks dived down from the heavens and loosed their bombs, each one missing the concrete and hitting the ice on both sides of the mole. Great gouts of water spouted through the gaping holes made by the explosions, spray dousing the soldiers who were huddling against one another. Panic began to grip them and in a matter of seconds men were pushing at each other to get those behind them to flee back towards the landward end.

"Give me your weapon," Kersh said to Firth who had frozen in fear. Unless order could be maintained there would be a nasty rout as hundreds pushed back and forth against one another which would quickly spill over onto the ice forty feet below.

"Give me your weapon!" Kersh snarled at the petrified commissar who gamely handed over his oversized bolt pistol.

Pointing it in the air Kersh fired, the deep, booming report cowing the turbulent crowd.

Above the noise he shouted, "keep moving forwards! I'm not a bad shot, but the Commissar here is a better one, now get on the ships!"

Safetying the bolt pistol he handed it back to Firth and added, MOVE!"

The threat of being shot was enough get the men back in line but if some did make a break for it Kersh was not sure if he could pull the trigger. The commissar beside him had not said a word. Kersh promptly dismissed him as a useless waste of a uniform and ignored him from then on.

As the light grew so did the intensity of the air attacks. Not long after the slamjets began their strafing runs a flight of thunderbolt heavy fighters arrived, on their first pass blasting a fully-loaded transport out of the sky; a single burst from their 30 mm autocannons enough to cripple it.

"Shit," Kersh spat on seeing the flaming wreckage fall back to earth. It would only get worse from there.

And it did, four more ships were brought down in the space of thirty minutes, slamming into the ice and breaking the surface. Any survivors of the impact were dragged under either by their sodden clothing and heavy equipment or pulled down in the wake of the large vessel.

One by one the anti-aircraft guns fell silent, their barrels red-hot, their magazines expended. The troops with ammunition had to resort to firing back at their tormenters with rifle calibre weapons, a pointless gesture of defiance in the face of the overwhelming odds.

Commissar Firth caught a fist-sized slab of concrete, torn from the mole he was standing on, in the shoulder. He died unnoticed.

Julius Kersh, bawling through a megaphone, was hit by a shower of flying splinters. Falling he continued to direct the troops even as he lay in a widening pool of his own blood. So intent on keeping the evacuation going he kept shouting right up until his heart stopped.

Cyrano Semirechye, lying flat on the mole with his hands over his ears, knew all was lost.

 _This is it now, we'll never get away,_ he thought. Raising his head he watched the few undamaged transports lift up from the heaving beach and try to run the gauntlet of cannon fire. Unarmed and lightly armoured they were helpless prey for the fighters that could pick them off at their leisure. And they did with alarming alacrity.

* * *

The seafront was in turmoil by the time they reached it. Izuru, hefting Larn on her shoulder, followed Martti through the destruction, dodging heaps of dead and wounded men that had been left behind. Black smoke rising hulks protruding from the ice was blown inland plaguing her nostrils and making her gag.

"Where are the ships?" Martti saw the beach ahead was deserted. "They've all gone!"

"No, look to the breakwater," Izuru noticed a few transports were still taking on troops at the mole.

Twice they were strafed before they made the mole and saw the extent of the carnage, bodies perforated with cannon shells, torn up and left lying in grotesque angles, the concrete surface ravaged and dazed, stunned men shuffling about.

"My friend!" Cyrano Semirechye waved to Martti from where he hugged what little cover the mole provided.

"Come on," Martti ran over and pulled him upright. "We get away now or not at all."

"I fear we do not meet under the best circumstances," Cyrano grumbled.

Untrusting of the stranger, Izuru drew Larn's pistol and pointed it at the dust-covered cavalryman.

"No-no, he's with me," Martti said hurriedly. "His name's Cyrano."

"A stickie, what next?"

"Wait for me!" Leo Wind climbed up out of a hole he had been hiding in.

"Fine, you too," Martti helped the pilot up. "Figured you'd be down some hole."

"Navy, well met I don't think," Cyrano shook his head.

"Follow me or you all die here!" Izuru cried.

"Follow the stickie, follow the stickie!" Martti urged.

Izuru was running full-tilt along the mole making for one of two transports that had not yet fled, the nearest fifty feet from her.

" _Hold on, Larn_ , _stay with me_ , _"_ she begged.

"Get down!" Martti shouted from far away.

Izuru missed the single thunderbolt flying in from the south. At little more than fifty feet above the ground the squat fighter drummed a rapid staccato on the ice with its guns, striking the transport in its weak flank, screaming up and away as its target ground against the concrete, crushing men before shattering the ice below.

Howling in despair, Izuru bellowed a string of eldar cursewords at the fighters that were circling like carrion waiting to pick a corpse clean.

"Just give us a chance!" she added in gothic.

Close to the end of the mole one last ship waited.

"There!" Martti had seen it too.

"Look!" Cyrano's eyes were to the north.

"Khaela Mensha Khaine…" Izuru's throat went dry. The hairs on her arms stood on end and she felt an ice-cold fear more terrible than anything ever before.

Little black specks, dozens of them were flying in from the north. An entire squadron of bombers laden with thousands of pounds of bombs was approaching.

"He's coming in again!" Martti pointed out the same thunderbolt that had just totalled the transport. Banking steeply it lined itself up dead on the length of the mole.

"GET DOWN!"

In a daze, Izuru watched the twin lines of dust kicked up by the guns even as Martti and Cyrano pulled her and Larn down to hug the surface.

A vision of her approaching death saw her body vaporised by the cannon fire, blown completely out of existence where she lay.

Izuru rolled to the left over the edge of the mole and felt herself falling.

A jerk on her ankle and Martti's hand was holding it tightly. Heaving, he swung Izuru to the side enabling her to find purchase on the remains of the mole's barrier and pull herself back up. Gasping for breath she found Larn, slung him on her shoulder and turned to Martti.

"Thank y—"

Martti was facedown with one arm dangling over the side. His body, in throwing himself across to save her, had been in the path of the cannon fire; both of his legs had been severed.

"Come on, stickie!" Cyrano beckoned frantically.

"Let's go, he's dead!" Leo Wind scarpered down to the last transport.

Without having the chance to verify whether Martti was dead, Izuru dashed for the ship.

A navy rating was beside the open hatch, exhorting the tiny fraction of unwounded men to get aboard. Seeing the pilot fly towards him, he gestured, "hurry we got bombers on the horizon!"

"Wait, wait for them!"

"Can't we're overloaded!" he cocked a flaregun and used it to signal the pilots.

"I'm a lieutenant, hold the ship!"

Cyrano leapt the gap as it was widening followed by Leo. Just behind, Izuru thrust Larn into a sea of outstretched arms and made the jump herself, at the last second hauling the rating with her.

Scant moments later the transport's engines were gunned lifting the overladen vessel up into the early-morning sky streaked with pink but tainted with smoke from the burning city below.

Leaning against the side of the open portal, Izuru saw for the first time the complete destruction on the ground, no building remained standing, everything was on fire or lying broken in ragged heaps. Still there were thousands and thousands of humans, Guard or otherwise, that had not been able to get away in time. How many she had managed to save she did not know but it was not enough.

Below them wings of bombers flew in, each one delivering packages of death to Karamaya. The bombs quickly obscured the city and the beach, blotting it out of existence. The horrible guilt Izuru felt was overpowering, enough to render her mute.

Cyrano the cavalryman had his arm around a sobbing boy and was consoling him. The pilot, Leo Wind was teetering on the edge of shock, his hand gripping another's. No one spoke, laughed or joked there was just a feeling of emptiness everyone was affected by. All they could do was sit, waiting dejectedly to be shot down like so many before them had been; helpless.

Izuru heard the mutual prayers spoken, either from mouth or in mind. She too prayed, for their safety, for her safety and for his.

She sat cross-legged with her back to the bulkhead, Larn's head resting in her lap, his pale, sickly face devoid of warmth and colour.

 _By the grace of The Mother, let his life be saved, spare him from the darkness and deliver his spirit from evil,_ Izuru prayed.

A rush of chill air entered the hold. Izuru's last glimpse of Nemtess was fire burning brightly far away on the planet's surface and the sun's rays reaching out to her from behind the clouds before the open portal was sealed.


	38. Epilogue

08:20/M41/03-40.999/Karamaya/Nemesis Tessera/Nemesis System/Segmentum Obscurus

* * *

Major Remus Kett, pierced in the thighs by shrapnel, waited with the rest of 1 Neria's wounded outside the bombed-out command post.

"I suppose we'll have to capitulate now," he said to Lieutenant Rutan.

"Yes," the lieutenant said. Bandages were wrapped tightly around his shoulder and head.

"Now that everyone else has gone…"

"Yes."

"I've never had to capitulate before… how does one capitulate?"

"I don't know, sir."

A few weak, wobbly voices began to hum one of the hymns commonly sung in the Guard. It grew until the song could be felt all across the city, softly sung by men and women, soldier and civilian.

Nobody in 1 Neria said a word when the first few Perfs came down the street. Expecting to be shot en masse, Major Kett was surprised when they marched straight past him though he kept his expression impassive.

 _Well what do you know_ , he thought.

Presently a Perf officer, a full colonel approached with a small bodyguard. Leaving the armed Perfs the colonel came forwards with a captain at his side.

"Good morning, major, Captain Keene, 63rd Colchisian Foot Regiment. My colonel wishes to speak with you," the captain said, bowing to his superior.

"Major, I am Colonel Rulbek, I wish to congratulate you and your colonel's gallant defence of the city," Rulbek extended his hand to Kett who shook tentatively.

"Here," Rulbek took a bar of chocolate from his breast pocket. "It is an imperial product, it is good."

Wordlessly Kett took the bar and handed it back to his men.

A tremble in the earth announced the arrival of Marines. Captain Hathor Maat, bruised from the fight the previous day strode up to Colonel Rulbek. His helmet was under his arm and his hair was wild.

"Why do you fraternise, human?" he growled. "Execute the loyalist scum and be done with it!"

"No, captain, these men are under the protection of the 63rd and will be treated as prisoners of war."

"I will crush you skull and kick it around, little man," Maat leered at him.

"You may find it difficult to disagree with six thousand men and sixty tanks, captain. I doubt even the Thousand Sons could prevail against those odds," Rulbek said levelly.

Realising he was outnumbered and surrounded, Maat retreated.

"You and your men will not be harmed, major, you have my word," Rulbek assured Kett.

Kett said nothing, no word of thanks, just stared, exhausted and beaten.

Throughout the morning pockets of resistance were crushed, civilians were marched out of Karamaya in their thousands, Grace Langstrand and her daughter Hope amongst them. Expecting to be torn from her child, Grace was shocked when a grapple-headed Perf, ugly and stinking, passed her a food package. Then when others tried to tear it from her grasp, the Perf came back and returned it to Grace. He never said a single word.

Felix Ankron and Arik Zahal, the only survivors of their mortar squad, saw the desolation of the beaches and the moles, both blasted into nothing. Clogging the sand, the ice and the rubble were the dead and the dying. So many young men, just normal people, no different from the two Perfs had had their bodies torn by shrapnel, riddled by bullets and left out in the open like animal carcasses. Zahal took off his helmet and bowed his head. Ankron broke down weeping bitterly.

Major Lucas Crowne, up to his elbows in blood wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and sighed. "Goodbye, leg," he began to saw at the few scraps of flesh and muscle connecting the gangrenous leg to the body before dumping it in a bucket. The meat attracted more flies, the little buzzing bastards harrying him and anyone else left in the fort; a truly sorry sight.

General Vorbeck, true to his word, was the last unwounded man who hadn't volunteered to remain behind to get out of Fort Sturnn. Even as artillery began to march onto the landing zone he stood, upright and unblinking, refusing to embark.

A captain who had recently joined his staff, Glowna his name was, spoke to him.

"What did we do here, sir?" he asked.

Vorbeck had no answer. With great reluctance he followed Glowna to the sole remaining ship and climbed aboard. His thoughts and prayers were with the men and women left behind on Nemtess.

* * *

 _Nemesis Tessera orbit_

Breaking through the layers of atmosphere, the transport weaved through a graveyard of broken-up ships, imperial, chaos and eldar, and flew towards a Hellebore Class Frigate waiting 'above' the sea of wreckage.

"That's it, we're safe and sound, lads," someone said after the noise outside had died away.

 _Safe and sound,_ Izuru felt like falling asleep now that they were out of danger but she knew she could not, Larn needed medical attention.

Laying his head down as gently as possible, Izuru pulled her cameleoline cloak from her shoulders and bunched it underneath. When that was done she picked her way carefully through the tangle of legs, arms and bodies forwards to the cockpit.

"Permission to enter?" she asked, hovering on the edge of the portal.

"Granted," the co-pilot glanced upwards at his display showing the tiny portal that was the frigates' hangar bay.

"You have my deepest gratitude, pilots, there is no telling how many lives you and your colleagues have saved this day."

"Your words warm the heart, lady."

"Pardon me for curiosity but are you Izuru Numerial?" the pilot asked.

"I am."

"I hear there is talk of a new chief Farseer being elected, what with the great Eldrad Ulthran's disappearance."

"A delegation from the Craftworld Biel-tan is making their claim. Their Farseer has eyes for the position."

"Would it be possible since you are reputedly close to the chief Farseer, my lady, that you might put yourself forwards for the position?"

"We would not want a foreigner staining the high council seat with their off-worlder presence."

"Please!" Izuru suddenly felt faint, having to reach out and steady herself. "Please, request the healers meet us when we dock, I am wounded," she tugged the bandage around her neck down.

"At once, my lady."

Of course it was not for her sake, her neck was a tiny scratch. The healers however would not take kindly to having to operate on a degenerate human and if they proved stubborn and refused to cooperate…

Izuru felt the bulk of Larn's small pistol wedged between her belt and her clothing, she would make them, by Khaine's wrath she would make them.

Bright lights shone into the packed hold when the hatch opened. Behind the glare a squad of black guardians trained lasrifles on the humans, inciting a similar response from the soldiers.

"Hold!" Izuru raised a hand and placed herself between both sides. "I am Izuru Numerial, raise your weapons – stand down, warriors!"

A bark in her tongue and the guardians dispersed, raising their lasrifles and giving way to her.

"Bring him along," Izuru motioned to Cyrano who picked Larn up in his arms.

Behind them Nerians, Cullens and Atreides disembarked slowly, gazing blankly at the exotic interior of the strange ship they found themselves on. Other ships had offloaded their cargo and now humans milled about in their thousands in the hangar under the wary eyes of their hosts, unsure of what to do next.

"Larn?" a voice called. "Bloody hell, Larn!"

A stranger appeared through the crowd, Cyrano seemed to be acquainted with him.

"My friend, I'm sorry I did not get your name," Cyrano smiled in greeting.

"Aimo," he trotted alongside the big man and touched Larn's forehead. "Crumbs, he's stone-cold."

"Our friend here says otherwise."

"Eh, so she a stickie yeah?"

"Ssh, better not go calling them that in their home."

"S'cuse me, uhh, ma-am?" Aimo looked up at Izuru, the top of his head barely reaching her nose. "Where you taking my mate?"

Izuru said nothing, ignoring Aimo and calling out in her xeno language to a nearby group of stickies.

"Where's Martti at anyhow? I don't see him," Aimo cast about for him fruitlessly.

"He bought the farm," Cyrano muttered.

"Oh, oh that's too bad, shit…"

"Follow me," Izuru beckoned, leading them over to a portal.

"No, you stay here, let me take him," she barred Aimo and Cyrano from entry and took Larn from the latters' arms.

"You gonna fix him?" Aimo asked just as she slipped through a circular portal.

"Oi!" he tried to follow but found the shimmering surface had turned rock solid. "How'd she?" Aimo ran around the other side only to find a mirror copy.

Blinking back into existence on a different part of the ship, Izuru hurried after the healers into a brightly-lit theatre that housed cocoons which wounded eldar occupied.

"Greetings, ambassador, I trust your mission was successful?" a healer asked.

He was one of two both of whom their backs to her as she entered.

"I have a patient that needs immediate treatment," Izuru said, her eyes flitting between the two, unsure of how willing they would be to treat a human.

"Please, lay them to rest and we will see to them."

Gently delivering Larn to an open cocoon, Izuru backed away.

"What is the…?" both healers froze at the sight of a wretched human lying in their theatre.

"What do you think you are doing bringing a human in here?" the one in charge cried.

Staring at them with fire in her eyes, Izuru said in a soft voice, "treat him."

"Impossible, the prey is barely an adult…"

"Treat him," she repeated, keeping her voice deadly calm.

"The council will know of this," the subordinate whirled and made for a portal.

Izuru's eye flashed, rooting the healer in place.

"Treat him," she said. "I am Izuru Numerial I have the blessing of the Chief Farseer, you will do as I command."

"The Chief Farseer has vanished, his name carries little weight now," the healer retorted.

"Treat him now," Izuru drew Larn's pistol and flicked the safety off racking the slide for good measure even though it was already chambered, the clink of the unfired round impacting the floor rang loudly through the silent theatre.

"Right now or I swear by Khaine I will shoot him then you."

The colour drained from both healers' faces realising she was deadly serious.

"Right now."

"Very well, we will operate but you must leave us."

"If either one of you leaves before he is treated I will find you and kill you. If he dies you die. If you sabotage the operation I will crush your skulls with my bare hands."

Not once had she raised her voice but it was enough to get the healers fearing for their lives.

"I will not be far away," Izuru said, scooping up the fallen bullet then turning on her heel and departing.

Once through a portal, Izuru collapsed against a bulkhead, not caring where she was, and slid down, practically falling in a heap on the floor. For the first time in many days she was alone, she was also dead-tired, filthy, hungry and bleeding.

Anon Brightfire was dead, Keladi had gone, Larn was dying and now Eldrad, her father-figure, had vanished without a trace. Izuru forced her fatigued mind to find his consciousness, flinging it out far and wide but it was useless. In a state of grief she called on the grace of The Mother once again, praying for Larn; this time aloud.

" _Isha, my Mother, Goddess of Life, heed my words. Grant the mortal life so that I may settle the debt between us. I beg of you, give me closure and him life!"_

But The Mother did not come to Izuru no matter how hard she willed it. Gazing away into space, Izuru's eyelids grew heavy and little by little her head began to droop until she fell into a deep slumber. Izuru Numerial would not awaken for a very long time.

 _Here ends the second part of Larn's story._

 _The third part will tell of the cataclysmic struggle for Cadia between the human/eldar alliance and the Forces of Chaos in_ Where the Stars of Terra Grow.

Coming soon…


	39. Author's NotesGlossary

**Author's notes:**

First and foremost I wish to apologise to you all. As you will have noticed in the previous story, _The Mad Game,_ Izuru Numerial stated she never met James Larn again but as of the end of _The Willing Flesh_ they reunited albeit with the dying Larn unaware of her presence.

I had originally intended to write Izuru out at the end of _The Mad Game_ and grant her a happy ending with her and the twins Ilic and Korsarro returning to live on Craftworld Ulthwé together. I did not even consider bringing Izuru back until halfway through _The Willing Flesh_ when I had the idea of the eldar approaching the Imperium under a flag of truce. This as it turns out is canon as the forces of Craftworld Ulthwé led by Farseer Eldrad Ulthran _did_ fight alongside humanity during the 13th Black Crusade, so I thought why leave Izuru behind with little to no mention? Why not have her act as ambassador to the humans? It was either that or introduce an entirely new viewpoint from the eldar's perspective and, to be honest, I would rather keep Izuru as I have grown somewhat fond of the character and wish to develop her further.

 _The Willing Flesh_ is the name of the book authored by Willi Heinrich who served on the Eastern Front during the Second World War. His novel was later adapted into the film _Cross of Iron_ which this story takes a great deal of inspiration from.

As well as _Cross of Iron_ , _The Willing Flesh_ took inspiration from several works the most prominent of these being war films, _All Quiet on the Western Front, Passchendaele, Fury, The Big Red One, Hamburger Hill,_ and _Atonement_ (some war elements to that one).

Unlike many other Warhammer 40K stories I have attempted to write perspectives from both sides, Imperial and Chaos, as I felt that too many works always had the imperials as 'good' and Chaos as 'evil' with the latter having next to no characterisation. Dan Abnett's Gaunt's Ghosts novel _Necropolis_ is an example of this with the enemy, the Zoicans, being completely normal humans underneath their masks albeit brainwashed. They exist however only to be mown down in droves by the Ghosts and nothing is told from their viewpoint making them mindless antagonists effectively with zero redeeming traits. I wanted to tell a somewhat different tale, I gave the Chaos soldiers names, thoughts, etc to show there was little difference between them and their imperial counterparts.

In _The Willing Flesh_ both sides commit atrocities but also show warmth and compassion at times because for the most part the regular human soldiers, chaos militia and imperial guard, are simply people, the former not having fallen under the taint of Chaos at that stage, still thinking and acting rationally.

I wanted to write a war story above all and though _The Willing Flesh_ is set in the Warhammer 40 000 universe I believe it is more 'war' than it is 'warhammer' it firmly plants itself in grounded realism with next to no focus on the usual protagonists you might expect from a 40K story ie, a Space Marine, a commissar, or even a member of the inquisition, rather a collection of nobodies who are just trying to survive.

 **Glossary:**

2IC: Second in command (Executive officer).

Accatran: Remington. An Accatran shotgun is a Remington 870.

ALI: Alderian Light Infantry, a light infantry regiment on deployment on Grendel. Support Company of 1st Battalion (1 Alderia) was responsible for the Slums Massacre in _The Mad Game_.

Atreides Cavalry: Mounted brigade inspired by the Russian Cossacks.

Ball and tracer: An ammunition belt loaded with standard ball and tracer rounds; usually one-in-five.

Bog Roll: Toilet paper.

Bondo: Combat zone.

Bootneck: Nickname used by the Imperial Guard to refer to Navy Armsmen.

Brass Exchange: Firefight.

Buck: Experience.

Buckshee: Spare kit acquired without proper chits.

Bunch of Fives: Punches.

Bundook: Rifle.

Cain: Military phonetic for the letter C, used instead of 'Charlie'.

Cain Cain: 'CC' stands for consecutive call, used when the caller wishes to talk to more than one callsign ie, the entire platoon.

Cain Zero Alpha: Cain Company commanding officer.

Cake and Arse Party: Not very good.

Chariot: Six-wheeled, ten-tonne armoured vehicle visually similar to an Alvis Saracen.

Cheggers: Referring to anyone who you don't know and isn't important enough to remember their name.

Chippy: Rubbish kit.

Co-ax: Coaxial gun mounted beside a tank's main battery, usually a .338-calibre stubber or a heavy bolter.

Chogey: Locally employed civilian.

Compo: Field Rations.

Concussion Grenade: A grenade designed to kill using explosive force rather than fragmentation.

Cover: Refers to headgear. Soft cover = cap/beret, hard cover = helmet.

CP: Command Post.

Crap Cap: Field cap.

Dig out: Help yourself.

Doss bag: Sleeping bag.

Frog: All-gun model Vendetta armed with missiles for ground attack. Takes its name from the missile-armed Bell UH-1 'Huey' used in the Vietnam Conflict.

Fullscrew: Corporal.

Glasshouse: Military Prison.

GOC: General Officer Commanding.

Green Slime: Military Intelligence.

Grollies: Underpants.

HE: High explosive.

Hennus: Four-tonne truck resembling a Bedford lorry.

Hoik: Throw.

Hollow Point: A jacketed hollow point (JHP) is a bullet with a hard metal coating designed to expand on entering the target thus maximising tissue damage and blood loss/shock.

Horror Bag: Military packed lunch.

Horus: Six-wheeled, eleven and a half-tonne armoured vehicle based off of an Alvis Saladin.

Iggery/Ricky-Tick: Quickly.

IM: Imperial Manufactora, 40K equivalent of FN Herstal merged with General Motors.

Imperator Victrix: A commonly read, frequently published newspaper.

Jack as Ten: Rubbish.

Jankers/Fizzers: Slang for non-judicial punishment ie, a charge.

Kazalak: Assault rifle (Autogun), 40K equivalent of the Kalashnikov but chambered in 9.5 mm/.374-calibre.

Klick: Kilometre (0.6 miles).

Krupnok: .50-calibre Stubber based off a DShK 'Shpagin'.

Lance Jack: Lance corporal.

LAR: Light Automatic Rifle, .338-calibre battle rifle, standard issue to imperial guard units not equipped with lasguns (FN FAL prototype/L1A1 SLR).

Lecta: .45-calibre automatic carbine visually similar to the Thompson 'Tommy Gun' and Soviet PPSh 'Papasha'. Feeds from both stick and drum magazines.

Long Range Sniper: Artillery.

Mark VII Tank: Leman Russ model currently in frontline service. Routinely armed with 125 mm smoothbore cannon, Vanquisher variants (Bomb) have rifled cannons.

Moses: Browning equivalent. A Moses Mk. II (Meinerz', later Larn's pistol) is an FN Browning 9 mm.

Moxifloxacin: Anti-bacterial agent.

MP: Military Police, the branch responsible for discipline in the Imperial Guard.

NCO: Non-commissioned officer, an officer that has not yet earnt a commission ie, a lance corporal.

NIG: New In Green, someone new on deployment.

No.2 Uniform: Attire worn for most formal duties (No.1 only for ceremonial occasions).

Non Tardabit: _No slack_ , Nerian 228th motto.

OC: Officer Commanding (company level and above).

One Zero Alpha: Number 1 Platoon commanding officer.

OG: Olive Grey, a common uniform colour in the Imperial Guard.

Outgoing Mail: Friendly artillery firing overhead.

Perf(idus): Nickname for Chaos soldiers, meaning 'traitor'.

Phase 1: Basic training.

Pom-Pom: Anti-aircraft nickname.

Recce: A look around.

Rekyl: Magazine-fed .338-calibre stubber. Cross between a Bren and a Madsen machine gun.

RSM: Regimental Sergeant Major: The senior non-commissioned officer in charge of discipline within a unit. Holds the rank of Warrant Officer Class One (WO1) and is referred to as sir. Sergeant major is not a rank, rather an appointment.

Scatheros: Franchi SpA. A Scatheros shotgun is closely based off a SPAS-12.

Scoba: Bofors. A Scoba 84 mm recoilless rifle. Identical to a Carl Gustav rocket launcher.

Scran: Food.

SEGCOM: Segmentum Command.

Slamjets: Cold War era jet fighters (MiG-17/Phantom). Obsolete in the 41st millennium.

SNCO: Senior (or Staff) Non-commissioned Officer ie, Colour Sergeant (C/Sgt).

SP: Self-propelled gun, a tank chassis mounting a howitzer/anti-tank gun (Basilisk).

Sprogs/Wetnoses: Recruits.

Square Bashing: Military drill.

Staffy: Staff Sergeant.

Stag: Guard duty.

Starlight: Passive night vision device that can be mounted on weapon rails. The scope mounted on Pte. Tozar's LAR (later removed) is an AN/PVS-4.

Stickie: Derogatory nickname for any and all eldar, Craftworld, Corsair, etc.

Stronica: Submachine gun (autopistol) identical to an Uzi.

Stubber: Automatic weapon roughly equivalent to 20/21st century machine guns. A .30-calibre stubber is an FN MAG/GPMG, .50 calibre (12.7 mm) stubber is an M2 Browning. A Vraks pattern stubber is an MG42 'Spandau'.

Stump-thrower: Nickname for an 82 mm medium mortar.

Subaltern: Officer below the rank of captain (British Army).

Sulpha Powder: A thin white powder when sprinkled on a wound allegedly prevents infection, also comes in tablet form.

Sunray: Callsign denoting troop leader (Platoon commander upwards).

Sunray Minor: Callsign of troop second in command.

Tankie: Nickname for tank crewmen (British Army).

Them: Used to refer to Imperial Guard Special Forces (Stormtroopers among others).

Tracers: Rounds holding a pyrotechnic charge in their base. When shot the pyrotechnic composition burns brightly, to the untrained eye it appears similar to a thin plasma bolt. Usually loaded 'one-in-five' ie every fifth round will be visible to the naked eye. Can be red, blue, white or green.

Track: Any tracked armoured vehicle that isn't a tank ie, Chimera.

Two Zero Alpha: Number 2 Platoon commanding officer.

Volg: 40K Colt/Vickers Manufacturing Company equivalent, Volg stubbers being Vickers 'K' machine guns. A Volg pistol is a Colt .45 automatic, this is erroneously referred to as a Moses in the story but is in fact a .45 Volg.

Voss: Ingram Military Armament Corporation. A Voss autopistol is a Mac-10/11.

WaA140: Production stamp on Meinerz's/Larn's 9 mm Browning (Moses) denoting it was produced in Belgium during the Second World War but is a replica model, not an original.

Walloon: Directional mine no different from an M18 Claymore.

Whack-ho: Can mean anything but no, similar to the American 'hoo-ah' or 'oo-rah'.

White Phosphorus: Made from the chemical element phosphorus, it is self-igniting, burns fiercely and can ignite cloth, fuel, ammunition, etc. WP is used in smoke, tracer, illumination and incendiary munitions; most useful for creating smokescreens and masking infra-red signatures.

Windproof: Hooded smock worn in cold weather coloured green, brown and khaki.

Wolf: Four-wheeled drive utility vehicle, inspired by the British Army Landrover.

Woolly Pulley: Green military issue jersey.

Wounded Lion: Decoration for being wounded in action, roughly the same as a Purple Heart.

Zero: Callsign for Headquarters.

Zero Alpha: Headquarters Command.

 **PS:**

To those that read _The Willing Flesh_ I would like to thank for all follows, the favourites, and the reviews, they are all appreciated!


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